


(coming for the king, that's) a far cry

by lipgallagher



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Typical Homophobia, Domestic Violence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, References to Depression, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-29 13:10:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13927788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipgallagher/pseuds/lipgallagher
Summary: When Billy's done in the cereal aisle, there'ssomany fucking people ahead of him, inallof the lines, and he's got to go pick up Max, and now he's going to belate, and Dad's going tokillhim, and.And Harrington's up by the front of one of the lines.He whistles, waves when he catches Billy looking at him, calls out, "Babe, I'm overhere." When Billy pushes through the crowd, gets up to the counter, he can hear Harrington telling the cashier, in this weird softfondvoice, "Igottajust get him on a leash, or something; this is gettingridiculous."Billy raises an eyebrow.Harrington gives him an innocent smile. "What's wrong, babe?"Billy presses up against Harrington's back, loops his arms around Harrington, smiles at the blushing cashier. He ducks his head, just for a second, presses his face in against Harrington's neck, before he murmurs, "Goddamn, sweetheart. People don't need toknowall of ourbusiness."ALTERNATIVELY: billy and steve 'pretend' to be gay boyfriends in love for what is essentially just extremely small-time personal gain.





	(coming for the king, that's) a far cry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inveracities](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inveracities/gifts).



> **notable triggers** ; section _xi._ features some dubcon vibes, as well as dumb teenage boys being insensitive about dubcon vibes, so. watch out for that. um _ix. _features recreational drug use, _viii._ features neil hargrove being...loud and using homophobic language so look out for that as well. depression vibes probably wont start to be even sort of triggering until late _x._ but it doesnt quit from then on, so. thats kind of grim but its also really mild, id say, honestly so idk. also, billy is a lot to handle in most chapters of this, i think, just generally so...theres that. be safe, everybody.__
> 
> this fic is an extraordinarily late valentines day gift for an angel who deserves a much better gift, actually, so. you know. hi. im terribly sorry for getting you into this ship in the first place. i hope this isnt the Worst, but...i mean. yeah. 
> 
> __
> 
> as for everyone else, im sorry to you as well. i mean i wont take Responsibility for your being here, but i Am still very sorry, of course, as per usual.
> 
> __

  **i. a problem presents itself**

( _welcome to the murder show; i am the motherfucking host._ )

Ever since he got to Indiana, Billy's been planning on going home for Spring Break.

But this morning,  _one_ fucking week _before_ Spring Break, Dad up and tells him that there's no way in hell he's ever letting Billy go to fucking  _Chicago_ , all by himself, _let alone_  all the way back to  _California_. 

Billy, who's spent pretty much  _the entire winter_  on his  _best_   _behavior_ because he didn't want to fuck up going home for Spring Break, is fucking  _outraged_ , not that anyone  _cares_ , because nobody gives a shit about Billy, or about what Billy wants, or about Billy's plans for his own fucking _life_ , not even Max and Susan and Dad, which is dumb as shit, on  _all_  of their parts, because they have to fucking  _live_  with him, and maybe Billy doesn't  _exactly_  run the show the way that Dad does, but he's still big and mean and violent, and it's not like he's  _crazy_ , or anything, but he thinks, if the circumstances were right, he could _probably_ be pushed into being the kind of person who kills a whole house full of people, or something. 

And the circumstances are  _almost_ there, now, so. 

Everybody should be watching their fucking backs. 

 

 

 

 

They're  _not_ , though. 

Dad and Susan decide to drive out to spend the day in Indianapolis, as if there could  _possibly_  be anything worth doing  _all day_ , in _Indianapolis_.

Then, less than an  _hour_  after they leave, Max is on the phone, whispering for about five minutes straight, before she just grabs her skateboard and  _leaves_. 

Billy rolls his eyes, goes into Max's room to steal the last of her Christmas chocolate, and then he sets himself up in the living room to work out.

He's determined to just  _ignore_  this whole Max thing, because,  _honestly_?

As long as Max gets back before Dad and Susan do, it's  _really_  none of his fucking business where she is.

But then, after another hour, the doorbell rings.

And it rings, and it rings, and it  _rings_ , because  _somebody's_  got a death wish, apparently.

Fortunately for them, Billy's still in the  _exact_  right mood to kill somebody, so.

Billy stops lifting, uses the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat off his face, turns toward the door to scream, "Fuck!  _Okay_!" 

When he opens the door, he's looking at Steve fucking Harrington, who's got a bandana looped around his neck, and it looks dumb,  _and_  he's got sunglasses on his face, and since the sun's barely even out,  _that's_  dumb, too,  _and_  he's got an unlit cigarette tucked behind one ear, which is  _so_  goddamn dumb that Billy wants to hit him just because of that,  _alone_.

"Hey, Hargrove."

"Max isn't here."

"Oh, uh, _no_ , my man. No,  _you_  are  _exactly_  who I wanted to see," Harrington smiles, laughs, reminds Billy of himself, last autumn, going,  _Nancy? No, no. Not my type_ , which is. A  _lot_. Jesus  _Christ_ , is this how  _Billy_  seems to other people? Because, if it  _is_ , almost  _all_  of the punches he's  _ever_  taken to the face are suddenly making a  _shitload_  of sense. "Wanna come help me commit a murder?" 

"Why the  _fuck_  would I want to do that?" The problem is, though, well. Billy would absolutely  _love_  to do that,  _any day_ , but  _especially_  today, when he's already pissed off  _and_  has nothing else going on. He blinks, looks around over Harrington's shoulder trying to spot his car, finally demands, "How'd you even  _get_  here?"

Harrington rolls his eyes. "I  _hitchhiked_ , oh my God,  _Jesus_." 

"Harrington, that's.  _Really_  dangerous." 

"I've known  _everyone_  in this town for my  _entire_  fucking life. Nobody's gonna  _murder_  me, or whatever." Before Billy can let Harrington in on how that is just  _not_  true, at  _all_ , Harrington sighs, "Look, I don't wanna  _rush_  you, okay, except I  _really_  do, so can you just get _moving_ , already?" 

 

 

 

 

"So, then Mike starts bitching, like,  _oh, please, you haven't suffered until you've had Steve Harrington, of all people, telling you to hustle every two seconds like he thinks real life is a basketball game_ , but I'm literally  _right_  there, right, and he just  _doesn't_  care, 'cause he's a  _fucking_  asshole, and so then  _I_ go,  _Wheeler, I'll fucking kill you, shut the fuck up, and hey, it wouldn't kill you to care about sports, it's not like chicks dig guys who do nothing but play D &D, okay_, which, I mean, Jonathan  _tried_  to say was too harsh, but it's  _not_ , Hargrove, and  _you_  know it,  _don't_  you? It's just goddamn  _true_ , okay, none of those fuckers are  _ever_  going to get laid,  _ever_ , and that's just a  _fact_ , but whatever, not my business, right, so, okay, and then all these kids, literally  _all_ of them, except  _your_ fucking sister _—_ "

"Maxine is _not_ my sister."

Harrington scowls. "You  _really_ wanna push me, right now, Hargrove?" 

And Billy  _does_ , but he knows how to give a little to get a lot, so he shrugs. "Okay.  _Maxine_?" 

"So,  _Maxine_ says,  _hey, it's not like Steve's completely useless_ , which, by the way? Not  _exactly_ a ringing fucking endorsement,  _Jesus_ , has that kid  _never_ paid a single compliment in her  _life_?! And, okay, anyway, then  _Mike_ is like,  _oh, yeah? Then how come your brother beat the shit out of him_ , and  _Max_ is like _—_ "

"I'm  _not_ her brother." 

Harrington pulls the car,  _Billy's_  fucking car, to a screeching stop, demands, "Okay,  _seriously_? Am I telling you a fucking thing, right now, or  _what_? Can you  _listen_ to me, please?! What do I gotta  _do_  to get your fucking _attention_ , over here?" 

"Oh my  _God_ ," Billy sighs. "Jesus, listen, how about you get better at _storytelling_ , if you want  _attention_ , I mean,  _fuck—_ " 

"Hey, if you don't wanna  _be_  here, Hargrove, you can fucking  _leave_!" 

They're on the middle of the fucking  _highway_.

Where the hell is Billy supposed to  _go_? 

He sighs, again. " _Okay_ , so then Max said...?" 

"Yeah, so,  _okay—_ " 

 

 

 

 

When they find Max and her dumbass friends, the one in the hat catches sight of them, first, and breathes, sounding terrified, "Oh,  _shit_ , you guys, it's  _Steve_ ," which is funny as all hell, because Billy's been stuck in a car with Harrington for the past thirty-three minutes, so,  _fine_ , he knows that Harrington can fucking  _talk_ , that's for damn sure, but beyond  _that_ , he's not exactly  _scary_. 

But then, Harrington takes a deep breath, and starts fucking  _screaming_.

 

 

 

 

Billy checks his watch a few times.

Harrington can fucking  _yell_.

He keeps saying shit like  _you irresponsible little bastards, what the fuck is wrong with you_ , and  _do you know how goddamn dangerous that was, you stupid fucking shitheads_ , and  _don't give me that shit, you should be fucking happy I just got Billy, are you kidding me? I should've called all your fucking parents, you little brats, Jesus, I fucking hate you people!_

The kids all  _obviously_  want him to shut up, to the point where they keep giving Billy these desperate little faces, like  _he_  should be the voice of reason who stops Harrington from yelling, but Billy hasn't  _ever_  been the voice of reason,  _not once_ , in almost eighteen years, and he's definitely not going to start  _now_.

 

 

 

 

Harrington is  _still_ shouting, but Billy's getting bored, so he starts looking around.

There's a kid in this group who Billy's seen  _once_ , and then never again, and  _that's_ pretty weird, because of how Max is always knocking on his door and bitching,  _come on, Billy, you have to drive me to Mike's, they can't start playing D &D until everyone's there_. 

He opens his mouth to ask who the fuck she is, but she opens hers first, to say, very intensely, "Bad man." 

Billy's  _known_ girls like this before, and they are just straight up  _never_ a good time, and yeah, Billy's _bored_ , but it's not like he's out here  _trying_  to go to prison, so he snaps, immediately, " _Hey_ , I didn't fucking  _touch_ you, kid." 

She says, pointing over his shoulder, "No.  _Bad man_." 

And then  _more_ people are screaming, not just Harrington, fucking  _everybody_ that's not Billy and this  _one_ kid, but then.

Everybody shuts the fuck up.

The kid in front of him's got a bloody nose, and she looks about ready to pass out, and.

When Billy turns around, there's a fucking  _dead body_  on the ground. 

Just  _lying_ there, right in the middle of the 74 freeway. 

So, Billy pulls out his Marlboros, because if there's  _ever_  been a time where Billy deserved a cigarette more than he does right now,  _he_ certainly doesn't remember it, whistles, " _Wow_. Isn't  _that_ some shit." 

There's a long moment of silence, and then Harrington mutters, "Only  _this_ crazy motherfucker, I  _swear_ , oh my  _God_." 

Billy's not  _totally_ sure he's being mocked, but he should probably defend himself, either way, just on  _principle_ , just so Harrington doesn't start talking shit _all_ the time, just because he thinks Billy will let him walk, because, hey, Billy's _still_ not trying to go to prison, but Billy's not delusional, so he knows that eventually, he  _will_  lose it, and then Harrington'll fucking  _die_ , so. 

_Yeah_ , Billy should shut that down, but before he can get his mouth open, Max is sneering, "We're from  _California_. Weird shit happens there  _all the time_." 

Everybody looks pretty shocked that  _Max_ is defending him, but. 

"It's true," Billy offers. "One time, this guy who lived  _right_ down our street got arrested at about  _three AM_ , just 'cause _—_ "

" _Nobody_ wants to hear about _Christian Alvarez_ ," Max spits, glaring at him, even though a less true sentence has probably never been said, in history, _ever_. Chris Alvarez was a  _really_ big deal, and Billy  _knows_ it, because the one time he was in juvie at the same time as Chris, well. Billy's never seen  _anybody_ go off like that. Really, that was some Biblical level shit. He's pretty sure Chris Alvarez is on death row, now, or something, back home.  _No one wants to hear about him_. Yeah, right. _Jesus_. Max doesn't know what the  _fuck_  she's talking about. " _God_ , Billy, be  _quiet_." 

Billy raises his eyebrows as high as he can. 

"I just saw you people commit a  _murder_  on the goddamn _interstate_ , and you're  _really_  giving me _attitude_ , right now?!" 

"You didn't  _see_ what you  _think_ you saw," Wheeler says, rolling his eyes. 

" _No_ ," Billy agrees, letting a slow smile take over his face, because. Who the  _fuck_ does this kid think he's  _talking_ to? Shit, these people don't fucking  _know_  Billy. He  _gets_  that, but. Christ, is it really  _his_  responsibility to teach other people's kids that it's a bad idea to fuck with terrifying guys with anger issues? Shouldn't they just  _know_  not to do that,  _already_? "I fucking  _saw_ some second-rate Bill Bixby wannabe sci-fi B-movie level shit, but I'll fucking  _say_ I saw you jackasses doing some weird Satanic shit out here, and I'll make it sound  _real_ fucking wild if I  _have_ to, okay, so don't you fucking  _push_ me, you little  _hick_. Un _fucking_ believable.  _Goddamn_."

 

 

 

**ii. a proposal**

( _shooters go after judas; jesus christ, if i live life on my knees, ain't no need to do this._ )

When the door closes behind Billy and Max, when they hear the Camaro start up, hear Billy's annoying metal music blaring as he drives away, Steve feels a strong sense of relief.

It's obviously not  _ideal_ , Billy knowing about everything, but.

At least it's  _over_.

But then, right when Steve's thinking about asking if anyone else wants to order pizza, or if that's a weird urge that's only attacking  _him_ , Will is tugging on the hem of Steve's T-shirt and saying, voice quiet and hesitant but  _probably_ also deadly serious, "You should seduce Billy."

" _What_." 

"It's not even  _seducing_ ," Mike muses, in a dangerously agreeable tone of voice. "It's just giving him what he obviously  _already wants_ ; it's not like it's gonna take up a lot of your  _time—_ "

Steve wants to fucking  _die_. 

He repeats, " _What_?!"

Lucas urges, "Take one for the  _team_ , Steve."

"Okay, listen up,  _assholes_ , this is  _not_ cool,  _don't_ talk to people like that, okay?!  _That's_ called peer pressure, and it's  _not_  great, I mean. You wouldn't say that shit to me if I was a  _girl_!"

Eleven, who is still hanging out on the couch holding an ice pack to her face, sits up a little bit, looking lost. "No?" 

" _No_! I mean, just for the  _record_ , what you people are fucking  _telling_ me is that I should take Billy's  _dick_ for the team, and I'm  _not_ doing that, 'cause I  _hate_ Billy, and I'm  _not_ gay, and,  _also_? I'm  _barely on this team at all_ , like you shitheads proved,  _six hours ago_ , when you stole  _my_  fucking car to go do  _exactly_  what I told you  _not_  to do, so I don't get how this is  _my_ responsibility!" 

Mike rolls his eyes, like  _Steve's_ being crazy and ridiculous and dumb, or something. "Who  _else_ is going to fool around with Billy? We're all  _fourteen_."

There's only  _one_  solution to this problem. 

Steve decides, "I'm going to kill everybody who's in this fucking house." 

" _Seriously_ , Steve, we're fourteen! Except Will's brother, I  _guess_ , but he's still dating Nancy, so _—_ "

"So,  _what_ , that means he's  _exempt_ from taking shit for the team?!" Steve glares over at Jonathan, who has just been uselessly standing in the corner of the living room for the past twenty-six minutes. When they all got to the Byers' house, Jonathan let them in, called his mom, called Hopper, and then did  _absolutely_ nothing else. _Steve's_ the one who's been doing things all fucking day. He's fucking  _exhausted_. He's so fucking tired that he probably couldn't even fuck Billy Hargrove right now if he  _wanted_  to. "Look, I'd actually  _rather_ get eaten by monsters than keep on having this argument, so I'm going to go wander around outside for a little bit, and  _hopefully_ , a monster's gonna catch me, and I'll  _never_  have to talk to you people  _ever_   _again_ , okay?  _Peace_ , motherfuckers." 

 

 

 

 

And Steve  _would_ rather get eaten alive by demogorgons than have to fuck Billy Hargrove, he _would_ , but.

God, that's by a  _really_  close margin, and so he still doesn't really  _want_  to go out in the woods, by himself, especially now that they _know_ there's still monsters running around Hawkins, so he just paces up and down the driveway, while he smokes two cigarettes and thinks about how much he _hates_ his fucking life. 

When the sun starts to set, Steve decides it's time to just go home, and maybe contemplate death from the safety of his own house, probably, but that's when Dustin comes barreling out of the house, with his backpack thrown over his shoulders, shouts, " _Steve_! Wait up!" Steve keeps one hand on the door of his car, taps his foot impatiently while Dustin opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. Steve scowls preemptively, but all Dustin ends up saying is, "It's cool that you know the word  _exempt_ , now." 

"Thank you," Steve responds, stiffly. "I'm  _still_ not fucking Billy Hargrove." 

Dustin pulls a grossed out face. " _Steve_ , I would  _never_ want you to do that!  _Ew_ , I mean.  _Jesus_ , why would you even  _say_ that to me?!  _Shit_ , am I the only sane person who's  _here_?!" 

Steve's never felt a stronger kinship with anybody in his whole entire  _life_. 

"I'm gonna go get pizza, if you wanna come." 

" _Yeah_ ," Dustin beams, scrambling off the Byers' porch, coming around the passenger side of the BMW. "Awesome,  _cool_ , 'cause I  _love_ pizza, and I  _hate_ weird intense talks about boys." 

"Intense?"

"Yeah, just 'cause everybody got  _really_  into it once you left."

_That_  doesn't sound good.

"Well. How intense are we talking?" 

Dustin screws up his face thoughtfully before he holds up two of his fingers, pretty far apart from each other. "You're about  _that_ close to  _actually_ having to sleep with Billy." 

Steve kind of wants to take his time and break it down for Dustin, nice and slow,  _no matter how close you idiots decide it should get, I'm never putting out for Billy fucking Hargrove, ever, so, you know, just be aware of that_ , but.

"Okay, that's good, I mean. That actually seems like a lot of breathing room?" 

Dustin nods. "Oh, it could  _absolutely_ be worse,  _yeah_." 

Steve shrugs, slides his sunglasses on, pulls his car out of park. 

He's  _not_ gonna give in on this.

He  _gets_ that the kids all feel super protective over Eleven, and everything, and that's  _sweet_ , but Steve  _barely_  fucking knows Eleven, so he  _refuses_ to basically be  _traded_ to Billy Hargrove in exchange for him shutting up about someone who is, _essentially_ , just some random kid who Steve's only met, like,  _twice_ in almost two whole years.

And, honestly, Steve's  _cool_  with homosexuality, he _really_ is.

He's not gay, but, sure,  _sometimes_  he thinks about fucking guys.

He's pretty sure  _everybody_  thinks about it, sometimes, even if they won't admit it.

And Billy's a good-looking guy, and he's obviously at least a _little_ bit open to the thought of fucking Steve, because he's always checking him out in the showers at school, which is _not exactly_  typical heterosexual behavior.

But, okay, it's just.

Steve's  _never_ had sex with a boy, before, but he is a _big_ believer of being very gently eased into potentially terrifying life-ruining experiences, and there is just  _nothing_ about Billy Hargrove that screams,  _hey, come roll around in bed with me, I'm a great first time experience_. 

Billy's  _probably_ the kind of guy who pulls your hair really hard, expects you to swallow all his come, and then calls you a slut for it the day after, which is  _kind_ of the sort of guy Steve is,  _too_ , so he's not  _judging_ Billy, or anything,  _really_ , he's  _not_ , he just  _doesn't_ want to fuck him, and he shouldn't  _have_ to if he doesn't  _want_ to, and. 

And he could say this out loud, but there's no  _point_ , because there's one roomful of people in the whole world who  _actually_  care about this shit, but Steve  _left_ that room, and so did Dustin.

God.

Dustin's the  _best_.

Steve's _gotta_ remember to buy him something really cool for his birthday, or something. 

"Alright, my man. What kinda pizza you wanna get?"

 

 

 

 

Steve takes Dustin to get pizza, takes Dustin home, almost gets back to his place before he realizes he left his coat at the Byers'.

And they're mostly cool these days, but after earlier, Steve _doesn't_ really trust Jonathan not to set his coat on fire, or _whatever_ the hell it is that weird intense art geeks do to get revenge on people they don't like all that much, which means. 

He's got to go back. 

_Without_ Dustin. 

_Shit_. 

 

 

 

 

Will opens the front door, blinks, smiles, "Hi, Steve." 

"Hey, buddy."

"Do you want a Capri Sun?"

"What? _No_ , I'm _eighteen_. If I'm drinking _anything_ out of a dumb shiny package, like a _loser_ , it's _gonna_ be something with alcohol in it, okay? Now, _look—_ "

"You left your jacket here. We didn't notice until everybody already left, sorry. So, you _really_ don't want a Capri Sun?"

Steve doesn't respond, except for how he pinches the bridge of his nose and daydreams about dying.

" _Okay_ ," Will says, raising his eyebrows, acting like he thinks Steve's fucking _crazy_ , or something, but also like he's just gonna ignore it and move on. _God_. What a good kid. "My mom was gonna bring it to you tomorrow, 'cause she wanted to talk to you, anyway, but I'll just go grab it, okay?" 

Will runs off before Steve can say, _hey, look, maybe don't pretend you can read minds, 'cause, honestly, people already think you're weird enough as it is_ , so he just stays by the doorstep, lights a cigarette, shouts after Will, "Okay, _thanks_!" 

He's not feeling _that_ worried about Ms Byers wanting to talk to him, but. 

In Steve's experience, if anybody wants to talk to him enough to come to his fucking _house_ , it's not a conversation he's going to be able to get out of, so.

He doesn't really know what this whole thing's about, but he _already_ doesn't like it.

Will comes back with his mom, with Hopper right behind them, with Jonathan trailing after all of them, so Steve sighs, "Oh, shit, come _on_ , man."  

"Don't worry, okay, honey? I just wanted to have a little talk about what might've happened with Max's brother," Ms Byers hands Steve his coat, and, _God_ , Steve _likes_  it, and everything, but if he had _known_ he was going to have to deal with all this shit when he came back to get it, he _probably_ would've just gone to the mall to buy another coat, _instead_. "That's okay, right?" 

Steve shuts his eyes, just for a second, and thinks about death a little bit more, before he sighs, " _Nothing_ happened; nothing's _gonna_ happen. Look, it _sucks_ that he knows about everything, okay? But _I_ didn't tell him _shit_ , so it's not on _me_ , and _—_ "

"No one's blaming you, sweetie _—_ "

"Yeah, but  _that's_ not true, is it?" 

Ms Byers sighs. "We just want everyone to be _safe_." 

Steve gives her a big sarcastic smile. "Everyone except _me_ , right?" 

"Steve, I _didn't_ say that." 

He rolls his eyes. " _Whatever_ , it's fine, I _get_ it, but look, the kids don't know what the _fuck_ they're talking about, okay? I'm _not_ gay, and _Billy's_ not gay, so _—_ "

Hopper, who's been standing a few paces away, pretending not to eavesdrop, like maybe he's just _really_ interested in taking about _five_  whole minutes to open up _one_ bottle of beer, lifts his head to stare at Steve like he thinks he's a fucking _idiot_ , or something.

"Wait a second. Some new boy rolls into town,  _first_ thing he does is stop to call you _pretty_ , and you're here talking about how he's  _not_ gay?"

Steve tries, hesitantly, "Well, that's. Not. The _first_ thing he. I. Okay, sorry, but how the fuck do you even _know_ about that?"

It's Jonathan who tells him, "If you're gonna freak out and tell _Dustin Henderson_ all your problems, you should expect him to tell _everybody_ he's ever met about all your problems, _too_." 

Steve fucking _hates_ Dustin.

What a fucking _traitor_. 

He snaps, scowling at Jonathan, "Yeah, well, it's _one_ thing for you to know about all my shit, and it's _another_ thing for you to talk about it to my _face_ like you think you fucking _know_ me, okay? So, do it _again_ , and I'll get my scary new boyfriend to beat the _shit_ out of you."  

Ms Byers makes a disapproving face at Steve, but she doesn't step in and defend Jonathan, even though she's usually _super_ protective, right?

That's just _proof_ that Jonathan is an annoying creep.

Even his _mom_ knows. 

This moment is actually  _way_ more validating than Steve was expecting it to be.  

"I'm _joking_ ," lies Steve, who's mostly sure he could get Billy to beat up just about _anybody_ without even having to put out for him, because that's just how bored and intense and violent Billy _is_. "I'm leaving now, though, 'cause you know, I _finally_ rented _Nightmare On Elm Street_ , but, then I forgot to watch it, and tomorrow's the day I gotta bring it back before I gotta pay late fees, so. I'm just real busy." 

"Oh," Jonathan nods. "Yeah, I'd been wanting to see that; I heard really good things." 

When the _fuck_ is Jonathan gonna learn to watch his fucking mouth?  

Steve can't ever bring that fucking movie _back_ , now.

Doesn't he _get_ that?

_Jesus_.

 

 

 

 

**iii. and this is how it starts**

( _you know what the midwest is? young and restless._ )

So, really, the first time it happens, Billy's at the Wheeler's place.

Max gave him a hard time on the drive over, because it's like she thinks that now that Billy knows about all the weird shit she's been getting up to, they can talk like _equals_ , or something.

She's mistaken.

They're _not_ equals.

Billy's _twice_ her size, can drive a car _without_ crashing it, and would  _never_  waste his time doing something as _pointless_ as learning to play Dungeons and Dragons  _just_  to impress a bunch of boys who are pretty much  _guaranteed_  to be losers for their whole lives.

Billy's _better_ than she is.

But nobody _knows_ that, except for Billy, or.

Maybe people know it, but they just don't  _care_.

Dad's been giving Billy a hard time  _every fucking day this week_ , and, as of Wednesday morning, it's showing on Billy's  _face_ , even though Dad's usually smarter than that, but, for thus far unknown reasons, he doesn't give a shit, anymore.

So, on top of dealing with Max, _and_ dealing with Dad, _and_ dealing with the fact that there's blood-thirsty monsters roaming around the edges of the most _boring_ town in the _entire_ Midwest, Billy's been starting bullshit fights every day at school, mostly with the dumb huge assholes who play on the Hawkins High football team, to cover up his bruises with  _more_  bruises, not that anybody in Hawkins  _cares_  enough to ask him about any of this shit, okay, he  _knows_  that, but.

 _Still_.  

He's not about to slip up just because he doesn't have any friends around here.

That's some  _lazy_  shit, right there, and no matter  _what_  Dad says, Billy  _knows_  he's not lazy. 

But still, Max gives him shit, Dad gives him shit, and when he gets to the Wheeler's, he realizes he's going to have to get out of the car and  _walk Max inside_ , because if he  _doesn't_ , she might just wait for him to drive away and run over to the Sinclair's house, and Billy's not ready to deal with  _that_  particular headache again, not  _tonight_ , so he walks Max in, and is immediately taken hostage by Mrs Wheeler, who is  _still_  a ridiculously sweet piece of ass, but is  _not_  what Billy's planning on doing with his Friday night, because she seems kind of high-maintenance, and he's too  _tired_  for anything that's going to mean doing real  _work_.

They're standing a little bit too close, and Max has disappeared to go join her loser friends, and the lights are kind of dim, because,  _apparently_ , much like Billy, Mrs Wheeler believes in the practice of  _setting a mood_ , which is.

 _Great_ , except.

Come  _on_.

Mrs Wheeler shifts in her heels, bites her lip on a smile, asks, "So, what are you getting up to tonight, Billy?" 

Billy's _never_ seen a woman wear high heels in her own goddamn house after six at night unless she was about to get some, and.

Okay, it's a _shame_.

He can _see_ that.

But, _goddamn_ , this isn't really  _his_ responsibility, _is_ it?

Billy shouldn't _have_ to run around Hawkins, dicking down the local talent like some kind of fucked-up superhero, right?

The _obvious_ person at fault, here, is Mr Wheeler, _whoever_ he is, if he even fucking _exists_ , because _Billy's_  sure as hell never seen him, but.

He feels _bad_. 

He smiles back. "Got a hot date." 

" _Oh_ , I just bet you do. Anybody I might know?" 

Jesus _Christ_. 

" _Well_." Billy bites into an Oreo cookie, even though he's _not_ hungry, and _doesn't_ really want chocolate stuck in his teeth all night, because he _doesn't have a date_ , and his mind is coming up _blank_ , so he needs to stall until it starts working again. He chews, swallows, thinks. The downstairs door opens in that quick way that doors usually only open when someone's running up the stairs like a fucking dumbass  _kid_ , so it's kind of shocking when  _Harrington_  comes tumbling out, all huge hair and flailing limbs and his stupidly nice mouth that opens around a smile for Mrs Wheeler, turns into a shocked stare for Billy, and Billy must still be feeling like a good person, because he reaches out to grab Harrington around the waist before he can fall over. "Plant your  _goddamn_  feet, Harrington.  _How_  many times do you need me to  _tell_  you?" 

"I would've been fine if you had  _never_  told me!" Harrington's steady now, but he's still tucked up into Billy's arm, and he steals what's left of the Oreo from Billy's hand, demands, " _Jesus_ , are you  _kidding_ me?  _Plant your feet_ , shut  _up_ , Hargrove, _Jesus_ , I swear, sometimes it's like you  _wanna_  get hit in the face."

Billy rolls his eyes. 

And, for some unholy fucking reason,  _that's_  when Mrs Wheeler makes a face like she's thinking,  _oh_.

And Billy doesn't even  _want_  to know why, he just wants to go sit in his car and listen to The Scorpions and think about breaking into Harrington's house to kill him, but it probably doesn't  _matter_  what he wants, because she says, "Well, you boys have a good time tonight." 

_Jesus H_  up on his  _fucking_  cross.

Harrington, dumb and oblivious and goddamn  _useless_ , beams. "Thanks, Mrs Wheeler." He sniffs, blinks, coughs as he pulls away from Billy, heads for the door, " _God_ , Hargrove, did you take a  _bath_  in cologne?"

"Why you asking, pretty boy? Do you  _like_  it?" 

Harrington stops on the front step, turns, laughs  _right_  in Billy's fucking face. 

"Do this whole goddamn  _town_  a favor, Harrington, and just fucking drop  _dead_ , already," Billy tells him, once he's got the Wheeler's door shut behind them.  

Harrington lets his laugh die down to an amused grin, shakes his head, scoffs, "Yeah, man, I'm  _working_  on it." He cuts across the front lawn, opens his car door, adds, "Hey! Little advice? Girls don't really dig Drakkar Noir  _that_  much."

He drives away before Billy can think of anything particularly mean or funny or smart to say  _back_ , so.

_That_ sucks.

 

 

 

 

**iv. second verse, same as the first**

( _i'm breaking my back just to know your name, but heaven ain't close in a place like this. anything goes, but don't—_ )

When Billy swings by the arcade to pick up Max before dinner, he's thinking about just kicking it in his car for awhile, because he's about twenty minutes early, and Max is doing this thing, now, where she shrieks like a fucking _banshee_ about how much she _hates_ him if Billy's even _two minutes_  early.

Shit, Billy already _knows_ the bitch hates him, that part's _fine_. 

He doesn't need her blowing his fucking _eardrums_ out, though. 

But there's not much to do, all alone in a parked car in front of an arcade in broad fucking daylight for twenty minutes, so.

Billy gets out of the Camaro at _just_ the right time, because Harrington is standing awkwardly by some beat-to-hell car Billy's pretty sure he's never seen before,  _clearly_  trying to lie his way out of something with the lady who Billy's pretty sure owns that shitty house out in the middle of nowhere where Billy nearly beat Harrington to death, that one time. 

The house where Billy found out that he  _wasn't_  being overdramatic about Hawkins, because,  _hey_ , he actually  _is_  living in a circle of fucking _Hell_. 

 _That_  house.

When he gets a little closer to them, he hears Harrington say, sounding almost  _desperate_ , "No,  _honestly_ , Joyce, I  _want_  to, it's just. I got  _plans_  tonight, and if I canceled  _now_ , it'd just be so, so,  _so_  rude, and I mean, my mom raised me  _right_ , you know, so I _—"_

Billy would bet  _all_  the money he's got that Harrington  _wasn't_  raised right.

Billy bets Harrington litters in the street, and goes  _triple_ the speed limit when no one's around, and has  _never_  called a girl after fucking her, not even  _once_ , because he is  _just_  like Billy, and is, therefore, _definitely_ an asshole who's going straight to Hell.

Still, it's  _wild_  that he's very clearly lying to this woman over, what?

_Babysitting_?

Or something  _equally_  dumb?

He's got  _plans_?

_Jesus_ , why would he  _say_  that, when he's standing  _right in front of the arcade_ , that's probably currently full of  _all_  the people he knows, since  _all_  those people are under the age of fifteen? 

If Harrington's got a way out of this,  _Billy_  sure can't see it, so this has the potential to be fucking  _hilarious_ , but.

Again.

Billy wasn't raised right.

God bless his mother, because she fucking  _tried_ , but Billy's a  _mess_ , and he  _knows_  it. 

Billy's an asshole, he  _really_  is.

He's not a nice guy.

He's just  _not_.

But, he  _is_  early to get Max, and he's not trying to go fucking  _deaf_ , here, so. 

So Billy finishes walking up to the arcade, grinds his cigarette down into the gravel, calls cheerfully, "Hey, baby! Looking  _good_." 

Harrington pauses for less than half a beat of his natural conversational pace, which is only  _more_  fucking proof that he's a fucking  _liar_  who wasn't raised anything  _close_  to right, at  _all_ , before he picks up what Billy's putting down, checks it out, decides to roll with it.

" _How_ many times do I gotta ask you  _not_  to call me that in front of people?"

" _Sorry_ , sweetheart," Billy grins, wrapping an arm around Harrington's shoulders, in a way that  _should_ just look companionable if, God forbid, Billy's  _dad_  drives by, but will  _probably_  come across as gay as all  _shit_ to this lady, right here. People are probably _really_ easily scandalized, after being born and raised out in the middle of nowhere, like this. "I'll do better, I  _mean_ it." 

 

 

 

 

Harrington sits in Billy's car with him for almost nine minutes in complete silence, presumably waiting for that woman to get her kid and get in her car and leave. 

Well, alright,  _fine_ , it hasn't been  _complete_  silence.

See, what happened was, they got in the car, and Billy said, "You like Zeppelin," but he didn't say it like it was a question, because it  _wasn't_  one, because  _Billy_  really wanted to listen to Led Zeppelin, so they were  _going_  to listen to Zeppelin, either way, but Harrington just shrugged, so Billy pressed Play, and they listened to  _Kashmir_ , which is probably the longest fucking song in  _history_ , but it's  _so_  good, so it's okay, but.

Good  _Lord_ , that is still some  _long_  shit, and then,  _finally_ , when it ended, a couple seconds ago, Harrington sighed, and now he's saying, "Hey, thanks for doing that for me."

"You need to find yourself some fucking  _friends_ , man," is what Billy says, because it is fucking  _true_. " _Grown ups_." He leans over Harrington to push his door open. "Go tell Max I'm fucking  _waiting_  for her, and if she wants a goddamn  _ride_ , she better get her ass out here _right_  the fuck _now_."

Harrington raises an eyebrow. "You need me to say it  _exactly_  like that?"

"What, is that going to be too  _difficult_  for you?"

"It's just...a  _lot_." Harrington admits, "You might wanna write it down for me." 

Oh,  _sweet_   _Mary_ , Mother of  _God_.   
  
Having a fake boyfriend is  _already_   _guaranteed_  to be the nails in Billy's fucking coffin if Dad ever finds out about it, not that Dad would actually _get_  Billy a coffin, because he'd probably just ditch his body in the woods, somewhere, where it would get eaten by fucking  _monsters_ , so.

Billy's putting a  _lot_  on the line, here.

The actual  _least_  Harrington can do is just  _not_  be a fucking embarrassingly  _dumb_  fake boyfriend. 

Billy pulls the last few smokes out of his pack of Marlboros, starts writing out his message to Max with a pencil that was in one of his cupholders, says, "Listen, I  _know_  I give you a lot of shit for being so pretty, right, but. Come  _on_ , Harrington. Nobody's  _that_  fucking pretty. You  _really_  just bullshitting your way through life?" 

Harrington bites his lip, blinks so hard that Billy thinks he might've made him  _cry_ , gets out of Billy's car.

And, well.

Billy's not about to  _apologize_  like he's some kind of  _bitch_ , or something.

He's  _not_.

Harrington's a goddamn  _moron_ , and it's not  _Billy's_  fault if nobody's  _told_  him that, yet, but.

Okay, it's not like Billy  _cares_ , but he's been thinking a lot about Harrington  _casually_  saying that he was  _working on dying_ , and it hasn't stopped being unsettling, yet. 

He holds the cigarette packet out the window, watches Harrington lean in to take it, watches him smiles slow and sweet and small, like maybe it's a  _secret_ , like maybe he's smiling  _just_  for Billy, like maybe this is something nobody else is  _ever_  going to be allowed to see.

And then Harrington says, in this small sweet  _fake_ kind of a voice, "This really  _mean_  boy at school tried to  _kill_  me a couple months ago, and now sometimes I'm a  _little bit_  slow?  _Baby_ , thank you  _so much_  for  _putting up with me_."

 

 

 

 

Jesus,  _okay_.

_Baby_  is a no-go.

Billy  _gets_  it.

Harrington didn't have to go  _so_  fucking hard.

It's like Harrington's  _wired_  strange, like he thinks he can walk around acting like he's fucking dead,  _or_  he can do the fucking most, but those are his  _only_  options,  _all_  the fucking time. 

_That's_  fucked up. 

For real, there's  _got_  to be something  _wrong_  with him. 

 

 

 

 

**v. the night out**

( _i'm trying to put you in the worst mood, i _—__ )

Spring Break in Hawkins is just as lame as Billy thought it was gonna be, but.

People are throwing a  _lot_  more parties than usual, and Billy's not too much of a snob to skip them, so.

Tonight, he's at a party out on the edge of town, and he's already spotted a few high school kids, but it's mostly just him and a bunch of deadbeat townies who graduated out of Hawkins High before Billy started there, and there's this one girl, this drop dead  _gorgeous_  college girl, who has been giving him the eye  _all_   _night_ , but when he tried to get her to mess around, she told him she wasn't a first date kind of girl. 

Billy asked for her number, _really_ put his back into it, used up just about  _all_  the charm he's got, and she just smiled, shook her head, told him she doesn't give out her number to guys she doesn't know, which makes a lot of sense, and is probably something that Billy should tell Max to do, in the future, but it means that, right  _now_ , he's trying to remember  _his_  phone number so he can give it to her, but he must be a little drunker than he thought, because every time he tries, he just starts thinking  _213 749_ and then he catches himself, and has to scale it back, because that was how his number went when he lived in LA.

His new number might start like...

217?

317?

314?

It's _something_  like that.

And now, somebody's shouting, " _Fight, fight, fight_ ," so,  _of course_ , Billy glances over, because he's  _never_  seen a fight he didn't like, right?

But it's just Harrington and Tommy from school.

It's not like Billy has any real  _responsibility_ , here. 

The  _only_  people here who know that Billy and Harrington are caught up in some weird game of gay chicken, lately, are him and Harrington, and it's not like  _he's_  gonna tell anybody, and, more  _importantly_ , it's not like Billy is even  _friends_  with Harrington.

He's actually sort of still friends with  _Tommy_ , but. 

_God_.

That fucker is annoying as  _shit_ , and. 

Harrington, who  _already_  walks around looking like a zombie with really soft hair, on a  _good_  day, is  _obviously_  drunk off his ass, and  _probably_  can't see very well from under all that hair, and is therefore almost definitely about to get his ass kicked.

When Harrington sobers up, he had better single-handedly start an entire fucking  _religion_  that revolves around Billy, or something, since  _that's_  the kind of gratitude Billy deserves, because Billy ditches the hot girl, pushes through the crowd, gets an arm around Harrington's chest to pull him back, says, "Oh, just go suck a _dick_ , already," when Tommy looks like he might say something, and guides Harrington out to his car.

 

 

 

 

"I  _had_  that," Harrington slurs. "I was  _okay_. Fucking  _Tommy_? Fucking  _pussy_  couldn't hit the side of a fucking barn, alright, I was gonna  _win_ , I didn't  _need_  you, I fucking  _had_  that motherfucker." 

They're making their way back into Hawkins from the house where the party was, and Eurythmics are playing on the radio, a dark low steady buzz of  _everybody's looking for something, sweet dreams are made of this_ , and Billy actually kind of  _likes_  this song, and so he would  _much_  rather listen to it than have to talk to Harrington. 

Especially because, in Billy's experience, the more somebody talks when they're wasted, the  _more_  likely they are to throw up. 

If Harrington pukes in Billy's goddamn car, Billy's going to be in prison by tomorrow, because the Hawkins cops are going to lock his ass up for homicide. 

He agrees, absently, "Yeah, baby,  _sure_ you did." 

" _Don't_  call me that. Jesus, I  _hate_  you. When are you gonna just leave me  _alone_ , already?"

Billy shrugs, grins, admits, because Harrington's probably not going to remember it in the morning, anyway, "Soon as something better comes along, probably." 

"But that could take a  _long_   _time_ ," Harrington says, sadly, after a few minutes, like Billy's just given him a fucking  _death sentence_. "I mean,  _shit_ , have you  _seen_  me?" 

Billy snorts out a laugh. " _Yeah_ , pretty boy. I've seen you."

"Are you  _sure_? Sometimes you don't act like it. I mean, sometimes, you just.  _Really_  do, Hargrove, and I don't  _blame_  you, those times, 'cause, I am.  _Really_  fine. I mean.  _So_  damn fine." 

" _Sure_." 

For the first time in fifteen minutes, Harrington stops trying to claw his way up into a real sitting position, just stays where he is, half sprawled on the floor and half on the passenger seat, looks over and  _glares_  at Billy. "What's  _that_  mean?" 

" _Nothing_. Jesus, what are you  _talking_  about?" 

" _What_ , you think I'm  _ugly_ , or something?!" 

Billy shrugs. "You got a weird nose." 

Harrington spits, " _Fuck_  you! My nose is fucking  _perfect_ , just like the  _fucking_  rest of me." 

Billy rolls his eyes, parks his car, stares warily at his house. 

All the lights are off, because Dad and Susan went away for the weekend. 

Max had  _wanted_  to have a friend sleep over, but the other girl's dad felt uncomfortable letting her stay the night in some random house with some random older boy and no parents, so Max said she might sleep over at the girl's house, instead, but she  _also_  might just hang out for the day and come back around dinnertime. 

Max explained all this on a piece of paper that had  _clearly_  been ripped out of a notebook right before it was shoved under his door.

Max left a phone number,  _no_  names,  _no_  address, and  _that_  pissed Billy off, when he saw it, but she was  _already gone_ , so he figured,  _whatever_ , Max isn't  _his_  kid, she can go get fucking kidnapped or murdered or  _whatever_  if that's what she fucking  _wants_  to do.

Who  _cares_. 

Harrington demands, "Where the fuck  _are_  we?" 

"My house," Billy sighs, getting out of the car, going around to pull Harrington out of the other side. "You puke on me, and I'm making you sleep outside, you  _hear_ me?" 

"Are you  _kidnapping_  me?" 

"What kind of  _fucking_  idiot would ever want to kidnap  _you_ , are you  _joking_? Look, you're  _cute_ , okay, but you are  _real_  dumb, and  _so_  annoying. God, just. Shut up. Just  _stand_  there and, fucking.  _Jesus Christ_ , just  _do_  what I tell you to  _do_ , okay?!" 

"You're not telling me  _shit_ ," Harrington points out, leaning against the door, watching Billy search through his pockets for his house key. "You are  _really_  drunk, aren't you, Hargrove?" 

Billy _finally_ finds his key in one of his boots, unlocks his door, pulls Harrington inside, snapping, " _You_  are real drunk.  _I_  am a  _little_  drunk, but  _mostly_  okay, 'cause  _one_  of us is capable of handling his shit, and  _one_  of us spends too much time in  _basements_  eating oatmeal raisin cookies and playing  _board games—_ " 

"It's  _one_  basement," Harrington protests, like that fucking  _matters_. "I don't even  _play_ , I just _—_ "

"You're not denying the cookies thing, and I'm  _worried_  about it, about  _you_ , 'cause oatmeal's  _wack_ , and chocolate chip's where it's  _at_ ," Billy informs him. It's unfortunate, but now that he's actually in his own fucking house, and, okay, also now that it's been  _pointed out_  to him, Billy's realizing that he is actually  _so_  much more wasted than he previously believed. He tells Harrington, "Look, I got to go to sleep, like. _Right_ now. You want the couch, or the floor in my room?" 

" _No_ , don't.  _Look_ , don't give me  _choices_ , I don't  _like_  them, just. Just assume I don't  _care_ , and work it out by  _yourself_ , then. Then, you know, just let me know what's going on."

This is the  _dumbest_ shit Billy's ever heard.

"You mean, just right  _now_ , or...?"

" _No_ , Hargrove, I mean.  _All_  choices,  _ever_."

 

 

 

 

Billy's up at four fifteen in the morning, because someone's crashing around in the living room.

He groans into his pillow, because he is  _so_  fucking drunk, still,  _Jesus_ , why is Max the  _single_  worst kid to  _ever_  fucking live, why is she  _always_  trying to fuck him over,  _God_ , but then light flows into Billy's room from under the door, and Max gasps, " _Steve_?!" 

"What the  _fuck_  is wrong with you?" Harrington demands, sounding like he's still drunk as all hell.  _Good_. Billy's not suffering  _alone_. It's a  _very_  small victory, but Billy's still going to take it,  _anyway_. "Do you know what time it is?" 

"Four one five," somebody says.

Harrington sounds confused, just for the first couple seconds, when he responds, "Yeah! That's  _exactly_  goddamn right! Where the hell have you been?"

"Just at Mike's, playing D&D." 

"S'that where  _Billy_  thought you were?"

"No, but  _please_  don't tell him, Steve, I _—_ "

" _No_ , Max, I'm not gonna  _tell on you_ , I don't fucking  _talk_  to  _Billy Hargrove_ , okay, how would that even  _work_ , but you can't do that shit, okay? Does  _Hopper_  know you guys were at Mike's?" 

The other voice offers, "No."

"You can't  _do_  that," Harrington repeats. "Look, I'mma be real honest, here, okay? I am  _real_ wasted, right now, so just. Go to your room, or something." 

And  _that's_  when, like they haven't already been talking for  _twenty minutes_ , or some shit, Max  _finally_  asks, "Wait, is  _Billy_  here?" 

Billy fucking  _hates_  that goddamn kid. 

He's drunk, he's exhausted, he's  _full_  of hatred, so Billy lifts his head up off his pillow just enough to scream, "I fucking  _live_  here, Maxine! Why fucking  _wouldn't_  I be here?!" 

" _Jesus_ ," Max groans quietly, like maybe  _she's_  too tired for  _Billy's_  shit, which is  _so_  fucking funny, it  _honestly_  is, because there is  _nobody_  in this fucking house who has  _ever_  been more tired of putting up with other people's shit than  _Billy_. Jesus, she has  _no_   _idea_. "Okay, come on, El, let's just go to my room." 

 

 

 

 

Billy's up at five twenty-three, because Harrington's in his bedroom, looking through Billy's closet.

Dad does this, too, looking for drugs or hardcore porno or  _some_  kind of proof that Billy's  _just_  as fucked up as Dad suspects he is, and on a  _fairly_  regular basis, so Billy doesn't  _actually_  have anything he's  _ashamed_  of hidden in his room, but he still yawns, " _Shit_ , Harrington, if you  _really_ wanted to die, you should've  _told_  me. I'll kill you, I  _promise_ , just. Not at  _five fucking AM_."

Harrington lifts a finger to his mouth, says, " _Shhh_. Billy's sleeping." 

" _I'm_  Billy."

"Shhh," Harrington repeats. "You're going to  _wake yourself up_."

Billy blinks. "Oh my  _God_." 

 

 

 

 

Billy's up at seven, because his head hurts  _so fucking bad_. 

Harrington's sleeping on his floor, curled up in a nest made out of Billy's shirts, sweatpants, jackets.

It's the  _single_  dumbest thing Billy's  _ever_  seen in his  _entire_  goddamn life, and.

_God_ , Billy has just seen  _so much_  dumb shit.

Like, arguably, way  _too_  much.

 

 

 

 

The weird quiet little girl who can barely tell time, and can also kill people with her mind, is in Billy's house.

On any other morning, Billy would probably be freaking out, a little bit, but.

She and Max just sit around all morning and eat their way through a  _whole_  box of waffles Billy had been hiding in the very back of the freezer, a half a box of Pop-Tarts, and  _both_ packs of the Chips Ahoy! cookies Billy could've  _sworn_  were safely hidden in the trunk of his car, before somebody knocks on the door. 

Billy, who's been killing time watching MTV on mute and popping Advil every thirty-three minutes, jumps off the couch, breathes, "Fucking  _finally_." 

"Shut  _up_ , Billy," Max hisses.

There's two people at the door, and one is vaguely familiar, but Billy's head's hurting  _so_  fucking bad that he can honestly barely fucking  _see_ , so it could still be basically  _anybody_  who lives in this shithole town. 

The other person asks him, "Who the hell are you?" 

Billy blinks, tilts his head, starts to smile his most dangerous smile, and.

And then the vaguely familiar person says, " _Relax_ , Hop. Billy is, uh. Steve's friend."

Hop, whoever  _that_  is, looks like he's hearing fucking  _gibberish_. 

Billy can understand that.

The vaguely familiar person presses, "You  _know_. Steve's... _special_  friend?"

Jesus fucking Christ on  _goddamn_  crutches. 

Hop makes a face like he's _dying_.

_Again_ , Billy  _gets_  it. 

Max's friend comes up behind him, gives him a hesitant little smile. "Thank you for breakfast, Billy."

Is she  _kidding_?

_Goddamn_ , his head  _hurts_.

"Sure."

The girl tries to leave, and Hop raises his eyebrows meaningfully.

The girl turns back to Billy. "Thank you for having me." 

Kids  _must've_  been invented by goddamn Lucifer himself;  _that's_  how fucking annoying they are.

"Oh, yeah. No problem." It's a  _huge_  problem. Billy has no  _food_. Billy works out  _twice a day_. He's not one of those people who can just  _not_   _eat_. He'll probably  _die_ , in a minute. "Cool that Max has some girl friends, now. I think her mom was getting worried." 

The girl smiles at him, like that's funny, or sweet, or  _nice_ , or something, like Billy's  _not_  just being a dick because he  _can_. 

Maybe she's just  _dumb_ , or something. 

Behind him, Billy's bedroom door opens, and Harrington walks out, sleepily wondering, "Has anybody seen my shoes?" 

Max asks, "Um, are they these ones, by the couch?" 

The shoes by the couch must be Harrington's, because Billy hears him sink down onto the couch, hears a little bit of fidgeting, and then Harrington's up again, stumbling around like Frankenstein's monster, so Billy sighs, pulls the Advil bottle out of the pocket of his sweats, says, " _Here_." 

Harrington takes two pills, yawns, informs Billy, "I wanna hit you in the face  _so bad_."

Billy nods.

"But, if we fight, I'm gonna  _lose_ , though, right?" 

Billy nods again.

"Not worth it," Harrington decides. "Wanna go get breakfast?"

" _Sure_ , baby," says Billy easily, softly,  _indulgently_ , because he's still got an audience. He smiles at the vague shape of a person, at the tall guy with the name he's already forgotten, at Max's weird tiny almost-mute friend. "Let me get dressed."

 

 

 

 

Harrington drinks three mugs of coffee before he zones out long enough for Billy to catch their waitress' eye, to gesture to Harrington, to mouth,  _Hi! Decaf?_

She nods knowingly, smiles, whispers something to another waitress that makes them both giggle and look at Billy and Harrington like they're doing something  _interesting_ , like they're not just hungover high school kids who fucking  _hate_  each other.

And, Jesus, it's so  _weird_ , because, well.

Being gay in LA was a  _really_  big deal.

It was  _loud_.

There were, inexplicably,  _rainbows_  everywhere?

For God's sake, there were  _parades_. 

And it's  _almost_  like, in Indiana, nobody fucking  _cares_.

It seems  _impossible_  to Billy, it  _really_  does, but.

Who is  _he_  to argue with all the fucking evidence that's  _right_  in front of him?  

"The Midwest is  _so_  goddamn strange." 

Harrington doesn't look up, just keeps trying to drown himself in his coffee mug, promises, "If you're about to rant about how _fucked up_  it is that we don't have Coors Light out here,  _again_ , I  _swear_  to you, I'm fucking  _ditching_  you here."

Billy can't  _remember_  ever ranting about Coors Light in front of Harrington, but it probably  _has_  happened. 

It  _is_  fucked up that they don't have Coors Light in Indiana. 

"We took  _my_  car." 

" _Hargrove_ , do you think I  _care_?!" Harrington demands, looking offended and fussy and half-asleep, still, "Why would that  _ever_  matter to me?!" 

 

 

 

 

Harrington pays for breakfast, and then he says he's going outside to smoke a cigarette, but what he really meant,  _apparently_ , was that he was gonna go out into the parking lot so he could take a nap in Billy's car.

Billy rolls his eyes about twenty-seven times on the drive back to the party house from last night. 

 

 

 

 

When Billy stops in front of Harrington's car, Bon Jovi's playing on the radio, some of their new shit,  _Only Lonely_ , and Billy's been keeping it pretty quiet, just because of how he's so respectful and responsible, but  _now_ , he turns the music up as loud as he can. 

" _Jesus_ ," gasps Harrington, sitting up and glaring at Billy, almost  _immediately_. " _God_ , I fucking  _hate_  you,  _fuck_." 

"Yeah,  _morning_ , Sleeping Beauty," Billy smirks. He waits until Harrington's out of the Camaro, is unlocking his own car, before Billy rolls down his window, calls, "Hey!" 

Harrington sighs, turns, demands, " _What_?"

"It is just  _so_  fucked up how you guys don't have  _Coors_  out here, man." 

Harrington looks like he's never been more betrayed in his  _life_. 

Billy gives him a big grin before he guns his car back down the street. 

 

 

 

 

**vi. veni, vidi, vici**

( _i got your number on the wall. i got it, "for a good time, call—"_ )

The phone rings right after lunch.

Susan picks it up, waits, then says, "Billy! There's a call for you!" 

Billy's  _still_  having trouble remembering their new phone number, so that seems unlikely, but he's really got nothing  _better_  to do, so he troops over to the receiver, anyway.

"Hello?" 

"Hi, it's Steve, are you alone?" 

" _What_?" Billy blinks, glances around. Dad's outside, and Max is at the arcade, and Susan's  _right here_  washing dishes, but she probably won't hear him over the running water if he lowers his voice, so. He does that, asks, "What's up?" 

"You don't have to say your name or anything if you're scared, but can you call my house in twenty minutes and leave a message and call me  _baby_  in that real annoying way that you got?" 

"Why the fuck would you  _ever_  want that?" 

"My dad just bought this weird new voicemail machine, he's  _totally_  psyched about it _—_ "

"So, naturally, your first instinct is to crush his enthusiasm," Billy says, flatly, like  _he_ isn't  _constantly_  crushing people's enthusiasm, himself, because it's not  _about_  him, okay?

 _He's_  a dick.

He's starting to expect  _better_  from Harrington.

"Are you fucking  _kidding_  me, Hargrove?! My dad crushes  _my_  enthusiasm  _every fucking day of my life_." 

That can't  _possibly_  be true.

Harrington's too  _dead_  to have any enthusiasm.

"Aren't you worried you'll get kicked out?"

If it was Billy, he would get  _killed_ , not kicked out, but.

Billy stopped assuming that  _everyone_  lived in a horrifying violent circle of Hell when he was in the ninth grade and had to go do a science project at this kid Sam's house, and Billy was nervous about it, but it turned out that Sam's parents were  _really_  cool, and Billy was there  _all day_ , and Sam's dad didn't even raise his voice  _once_.

Besides, if Harrington was stuck in Hell, he'd probably say something.

He seems like that kind of person.

"Oh,  _please_ ," Harrington scoffs. "Like,  _what_ , they're gonna have another kid  _now_ , after they  _just_  went and put fourteen years of effort into  _me_? No  _way_."

"Are you _fourteen_ , now?" 

"They've  _really_  been slacking off the past couple years, look,  _listen_  to me, I need you to just say  _yes_ , okay, 'cause I gotta go help my mom with the biscotti before she freaks out and  _screams_  real loud."

"Oh, so that's a  _genetic_  thing?"

" _Fuck_   _you_!"

What's  _really_  weird is that Billy's  _grinning_ , even though he doesn't  _have_  to be.

He's all by himself, except for Susan, who could not give a  _fuck_  about him,  _ever_ , so.

He doesn't _have_ to smile, doesn't have to act, doesn't have to try to look like a normal fucking person.

He can't make it  _stop_ , though.

"What's a  _biscotti_?"

"It's, um. It's supposed to be like a cookie, but I don't know, 'cause Mom always messes them up. God, I don't know, it's  _Italian_ , my mom's from  _Detroit_ , okay, she can do pasta and panna cotta and then she fucking  _sucks_  at baking  _everything_ , but she still  _tries_ , and.  _Look_ , how about, just this  _one_  time, you  _don't_  be more annoying than you gotta be? You gonna do this for me, or not?" 

"Jesus,  _fine_ , give me your number," sighs Billy, who has actually had Harrington's number written down in his English folder since three days after Halloween.

Harrington doesn't  _know_  he has it, but.

Billy  _does_ have it.

 _God_.

He's getting  _so_  fucking lame, these days. 

 

 

 

 

Billy experiences a brief moment where all he does is panic, when Dad comes back in from outside, but all  _Dad_ does is grab Susan in his arms, spin her around, tell her that it's a nice day, so they should go out.

 

 

 

 

Billy's not sure how long Harrington's family are going to be gathered in the same room, and he  _knows_  Harrington said twenty minutes, but he doesn't want to risk doing it when Dad could overhear, because that's the kind of thing Dad would fucking  _murder_  him for, so he waits an extra eight minutes after Dad's car pulls away, just to be safe, then dials Harrington's number, waits, waits, waits, slips into his friendly dirtbag next door persona, licks his lips, purrs, "Steve, it's me. I, uh.  _Really_  been missing you today. You should come over and see me. I'll, you know. Make it worth your while, baby.  _Promise_." 

 

 

 

 

Okay,  _honestly_ , the dirtbag persona is about 95% just who Billy _actually is_ , but.

Billy's got  _emotions_. 

Sometimes, he even reads  _poetry_. 

He's fucking  _fragile_ , okay?

Dirtbag Billy just wants to get laid. 

And,  _yeah_ , Billy wants to get laid,  _too_ , but. 

He's a little more subtle. 

 

 

 

 

Max comes home from the arcade, takes a shower, eats a bunch of Funyuns and two peanut butter marshmallow sandwiches, and then informs Billy that Sunday is Dungeons & Dragons night.

He's pretty sure he's been taking her to play D&D on  _Fridays_ , this whole goddamn time, but.

_Jesus_.

She's  _smart_ , sometimes, this kid. 

They  _both_  fucking know that Billy just doesn't  _know_ enough about D&D to be able to prove her  _wrong_ , so.

 

 

 

 

So, Billy walks Max into the Wheeler's, almost runs  _right_  into that kid Dustin when he's leaving, because the little bastard doesn't  _actually_  know how to walk  _and_  remain aware of his surroundings, or something, but that's the  _only_  warning Billy gets that he's about to have to deal with Steve fucking Harrington leaning back against his Camaro with a cigarette in his hand, before Harrington spots him and crows, "Billy  _fucking_  Hargrove! You should be a motherfucking  _movie star_! Oh my fucking  _God_ , okay, so, my dad?  _Loses_  it,  _right there_ , at lunch, screaming all  _kinds_  of crazy shit, and my mom's just sitting there looking bored, going,  _honey, just eat your eggplant parmesan, okay? Don't you remember what Dr Allen said—_ "

"Who's Dr Allen?"

Harrington waves his cigarette around absently, shrugs, says, "Oh, I don't know. Nobody, really. Just some doctor who thinks my dad might have a heart attack soon." 

_What_.

"Are you trying to tell me you just used me for a  _murder attempt_?" 

Harrington scoffs, "Oh,  _please_. Like you wouldn't fucking  _love_  to murder somebody, you  _fucking_  psycho.  _Especially_  with me, I'd be  _great_  company for something like that. You know I can make trail mix, now? Dustin's mom showed me. I mean, it's mostly M&Ms. Dustin likes his with Reese's Pieces, but I _keep_ telling him, _listen, man, I like you and everything, but I'm not going to rearrange my few skills in life around some dumb movie about some dumb alien that I never even saw—_ "

What the  _fuck_? 

"You didn't see  _E.T._? Why  _not_ ; what's  _wrong_  with you?"

" _Um_ ," laughs Harrington, eyeing Billy curiously over the top of his Ray-Bans. It's _six-fifteen PM_. This dramatic fucking  _asshole_. "That movie hit the theater, God. I don't know?  _Three_  years ago, man."

" _Yeah_ ," snaps Billy, who happens to have fond memories of the summer of 1982. "I fucking  _know_  that."

" _Okay_ , well, I was fifteen, or whatever? I don't know about  _California_ , but around  _here_ , you don't really get girls by watching dumb fantasy shit all the time." 

" _Sci-fi_." 

Harrington looks down, shakes his head, but when he looks up, he's smiling, that soft small just-for-Billy smile, again.

More  _real_ , this time, though.

Billy can  _tell_.

"You _obviously_ really care about this, Hargrove, but," and he pushes away from the Camaro, starts walking toward his own car, finishing, "I  _don't_  really care, and you're not _thirteen_ , so I'm not gonna  _pretend_  like this matters to me. I mean, you can _understand_ that, right?"

 

 

 

 

**vii. the calm before the storm**

( _you've got something special that makes me wanna taste you. i want it all day long; i'm addicted like it's wrong._ )

Billy hasn't been sleeping all that great, lately, and that  _always_  freaks him out.

When he was a kid, if he got up at 3AM because he had a nightmare or needed a glass of water or had to go to the bathroom, or whatever, Dad would give him a hard time for waking him up, like it was  _Billy's_  fault that their walls were too thin, or something.

Their walls aren't so bad here in Hawkins, but it doesn't matter. 

If he's up past midnight, now, when Dad's home, too, Billy gets the shakes in  _advance_.

The human body is fucking dumb as shit.

Billy spends  _way_  too much of his time being scared that he's going to get beat up.

Life would be a lot easier if he could just accept that it's going to happen and move on with his life.

But Billy's never been able to take  _anything_  and move on. 

So he's exhausted, up and lacing up his shoes with a cigarette stuck between his lips and Max bitching at him about making her late, even though, _Christ_ , the kid should be happy Billy's giving her a ride at _all_ , but whatever.

The front door opens up behind him, and Max leans out of the way, steps closer to Billy as Dad goes past her down the stairs, and Susan follows him, before stopping, turning, starting to look through her purse as she asks Billy to get some stuff from the grocery store on his way home from school.

Billy  _doesn't_  want to do that.

His day is  _already_  going to suck.

He has a test in Math, a prep exam in English, and a pop quiz in Spanish, because he's _always_ got a pop quiz in Spanish.

He is probably the  _only_  goddamn person in Hawkins who actually  _speaks_  fluent Spanish, so he is the last fucking person who  _needs_  to be taking pop quizzes every fucking day of his life, but.

Life's not fair.

There's no basketball today, and all the girls in town have been avoiding him, ever since.

Well, okay, _fine_ , maybe it's his  _own_  goddamn fault that girls are avoiding him, because of this dumb game he's been playing with Harrington lately, but it means he's going to have _nothing_ to do to kill time in the afternoon, when he's got to wait around for an hour for Max after school, and _then_ drive her to the arcade, and _then_ look around his car until he finds a few bucks worth of quarters for her to play her dumb video games with, and _then_ wait for her to finish up there, and,  _Jesus Christ_ , that's  _more_  than enough responsibility  _already_ , but Susan  _asked_ , and Dad's  _right here_ , so Billy says he'll do it, because.

There's really no way out of it. 

 

 

 

 

Billy's been staring at a shelf full of canned corn for at  _least_ ten minutes when Harrington walks up and yawns, " _Hey_ , Hargrove." 

"Hola."

Harrington didn't come to school today, so Billy had to suffer through their shared classes  _alone_ , and he's  _annoyed_  about it,  _plus_  he's annoyed about grocery shopping, because it's turning out to be an almost totally  _impossible_  task.

"What are you making?" Harrington asks, crowding up against Billy, looking down into his shopping cart. His dumb sunglasses are on top of his head. What kind of annoying asshole _is_ Harrington? He's never seemed _this_  awful, before. "Is that. What, are you making _creamed corn_?" 

"Harrington, I  _obviously_  have no fucking idea." Billy sighs, holds out the list, glances at Harrington. "My  _stepmother_."

Harrington leans in, gnaws at his lip, blinks. "She's got  _bad_  handwriting, dude." 

"Yeah,  _dude_. Why the  _hell_  do you think I've been standing here looking at goddamn  _corn_  for the past  _hour_  of my  _life_?"

Nice and slow, like maybe he thinks Billy's a wild animal that might eat him alive at any second, Harrington reaches out for the shopping list, gives it a closer look, hums, "Listen, I'm just gonna help you with this, then I'm gonna go. I, uh. Think she's making cornbread?  _Yeah_ , I think. Looks like, uh. Yeah, okay, come with me."  

 

 

 

 

Billy loses Harrington in the cereal aisle, but he doesn't really care.

 

 

 

 

When Billy's  _done_  in the cereal aisle, he starts to care, because there's  _so_  many fucking people ahead of him, in  _all_ of the lines, and he's got to go pick up Max, and now he's going to be  _late_ , and Dad's going to  _kill_  him, and. 

And Harrington's up by the front of one of the lines.

He whistles, waves when he catches Billy looking at him, calls out, " _Babe_ , I'm over  _here_." When Billy pushes through the crowd, gets up to the counter, he can hear Harrington telling the cashier, in this weird soft  _fond_  voice, "I  _gotta_  just get him on a leash, or something; this is getting  _ridiculous_." 

Billy raises an eyebrow. 

Harrington gives him an innocent smile. "What's wrong, babe?" 

Billy presses up against Harrington's back, loops his arms around Harrington, smiles at the blushing cashier. He ducks his head, just for a second, presses his face in against Harrington's neck, before he murmurs, " _Goddamn_ , sweetheart. People don't need to  _know_  all of our  _business_." 

 

 

 

 

"Wait, I can use this shit to  _cut in line_  at the  _grocery store_?" 

Harrington shrugs, flips his sunglasses down over his eyes, grabs one of the shopping bags Billy's got in his hands. "There's no  _rules_ , Hargrove. You can do  _whatever you want_."

Billy watches, blankly, as Harrington looks through the bag, hands it back, takes a different one, instead, and  _that_  takes a couple minutes, and Billy doesn't really have the time for this shit, so he asks, "What are you  _doing_ , right now?" 

"You got me some Starbursts."

"No, I _didn't_." 

"Why do you think I  _let_  you skip ahead? I'm all outta cash, and my dad's _pissed_ 'cause I keep using his credit card for _frivolous purchases_ , whatever _that_ means, _I_ don't know. It's a whole thing, but long story short, you  _bought_  me candy, it's in here  _somewhere_ , I." Harrington looks up, beams proudly, holds out a pack of Starbursts. "Do you want a piece? I kinda only like the strawberry ones, but sometimes the orange ones? So, I mean, you could have the _—_ " 

"I don't want a fucking  _Starburst_ , Harrington,  _Jesus_."

"Yeah, okay," Harrington shrugs. "See ya."

 

 

 

 

**viii. all thriller, no filler**

( _i've always tried to control things; in the end, that's what controls me. maybe that's why i'm controlling _—__ ) 

Billy's watching MTV with Max when Dad gets home, and.

Dad's upset. 

He had a rough day at work, probably.

He hasn't actually interacted with Billy for about three and a half days, but  _that_  doesn't matter, right? 

Because anytime anything  _ever_  goes wrong, it's  _got_  to be  _Billy's_  fault. 

This isn't fucking  _new_. 

It's  _always_  been like this. 

That doesn't stop Billy from freezing up and freaking out about it, though, so.

That's _great_.  

 

 

 

 

Susan backs off Dad pretty quick, smiles apologetically at Billy, takes Max into the bathroom with her. 

That's smart. 

There's a lock on the bathroom door. 

But now Billy's stuck out in the living room with Dad, and there's nowhere for  _him_  to hide, and Dad's shouting at him, and Billy's just trying to  _take_  it, because he knows he fucking  _has_  to, but then Dad realizes that's not working, probably, because he stops pressing in on Billy being  _disrespectful_ , on Billy being  _lazy_ , on Billy always fucking  _letting him down_ , and switches it up, instead. 

He stops, shakes his head, smiles.

Billy smiles like that, too, sometimes.

Usually right before he hits somebody.

Usually when he doesn't think he'll be able to stop, once he gets started.

Dad says, "You know, I heard something funny about you today."

Dad says, "You'll laugh, when you hear it, I think."

Dad waits, waits,  _waits_ , then: "Do you want to know what I _fucking_ heard about you today, Billy?"

"No, sir."

"Yeah," Dad nods. "I didn't want to hear it, either. And I better not hear  _anything_  like it,  _again_. Do you  _understand_  me? I don't  _need_  to hear about you running around town acting like some kind of fucking _faggot_." 

"Yeah, um." And because Billy's apparently fucking  _suicidal_ , now, or something, he stands up, shrugs, smiles. "No, I don't know why the hell anybody would say that, 'cause I'm not fucking  _acting_." 

 

 

 

 

Harrington's laying around behind his house, by his swimming pool, wearing his basketball shorts and gripping onto a bottle of vodka and getting drunk as hell by himself, like he _wants_ to drown and die.

When he realizes that Billy's climbing over his fence, he shouts, "I have a  _door_ , oh my  _God!_ " 

And Billy didn't come here _expecting_ anything, but when he used to do this kind of thing sometimes, back at home, he'd go to see whatever girl he was messing around with, and usually she'd cry and hug him and then suck his dick, so it was a silver lining type of thing that came along with Dad being an asshole, but that's not going to happen right now, because he's not  _really_  messing around with Harrington, he's just  _pretending_  to mess around with Harrington, but he needed to go  _somewhere_ , and he doesn't fucking  _know_  anybody here.

He doesn't  _have_  anybody here. 

They sit by the edge of the pool for at least a half hour, maybe longer, before Harrington slurs, "You  _know_  you don't have to just do what people want,  _right_?" 

In the  _first_  place, what the fuck does that  _mean_ , but.

Also?

" _You're_  fucking telling  _me_  I don't have to do what people want me to do?  _You_ are?" 

Harrington yawns, turns, looks him in the fucking face to say, "Yeah,  _shithead_ , I  _am_ , 'cause I  _do_  have to do what people want. You  _don't_."

"I'm okay." And Harrington didn't fucking  _ask_ , but. That's what he _means_ , right? "I'm fine." Harrington's got his feet in the pool, even though it's cold as shit outside, so Billy decides to be a good person and tell him, "You're gonna get _sick_ , King Steve." 

" _I'm_  gonna get sick? Me?  _Yeah_ , 'cause  _I'm_  the idiot who wears  _one_  piece of clothing per _day_ ," Harrington scoffs, gets out of the water, stands up shakily. "Jesus  _Christ_."

 

 

 

 

In the house, Harrington turns on the lights, pulls on some socks, goes into the kitchen and drinks half a carton of milk without pouring it into a glass, first.

Then he says, sounding like he doesn't actually care at all, "Your face looks  _way_  worse in here." 

Billy rolls his eyes. 

He wanders around the kitchen, opens the fridge, a cupboard that's only got  _four_  different kinds of wine glasses in it, like wine's  _not_  a gross drink that  _everybody_  hates, and then the pantry, which can't  _possibly_  be full of boxes of Nilla Wafers, but.

He is almost  _definitely_  looking at a pantry that's  _entirely_  full of Nilla Wafers.

He says, "What the fuck." 

Harrington shrugs. "Dustin likes them." 

"So,  _what_? Does Dustin  _live_  here?" 

" _No_ , Hargrove, it's just a whole  _thing—"_

"Every _single_ time you tell me how something's a _whole thing_ I just end up with _more_ questions _—_ "

"Look, I don't  _know_ , okay?! _I_ didn't really _ask_ questions, which is the  _exact_   _attitude_ I need  _you_  to adopt right now,  _too_." 

 

 

 

 

The shower starts running upstairs, after a minute, so.

Billy sits down in this big armchair that's in Harrington's living room and watches _Nightmare On Elm Street_ for awhile.  

When Harrington comes back downstairs, he settles down across the couch, but it's  _dark_  and he's  _quiet_  and this movie is a _lot_ to handle, so Billy doesn't notice him for a minute.

When Billy  _does_  notice him, he gasps, " _Hail Mary_ , full of  _fucking_  grace,  _Jesus._ "

Harrington just sighs, "My _man_ , we have  _got_ to talk out this whole Catholic thing you got going on."

He looks like a zombie, again.

The movie plays for another half a minute or so before Harrington adds, "Cropped shirts like that are  _such_  a weird look." 

Billy shrugs. "Yeah, kinda." 

Harrington eyes him distrustfully. "Is this where you get all liberal and stuff, 'cause I  _gotta_  be upfront with you, Hargrove, I  _can't_  take that tonight." 

"Harrington, I just don't  _care_." 

"You have an  _earring_ ," Harrington says, seriously, like maybe Billy doesn't  _know_  that already.

"That doesn't mean I'm a fucking  _hippie_."

" _Well_." Harrington rolls over onto his stomach, props his head up in his hands, smiles. "Okay, but. How do you feel about Reagan?"

Billy opens his mouth, shuts it, almost bites  _straight_  through his fucking tongue. 

Harrington laughs like this is the _best_ fucking thing that's _ever_ happened to him.

 _What_ a fucking jackass.

"That's not  _fair_ ," Billy explains, after a few more minutes, when he thinks he's probably not going to scream.  _Probably_. "That doesn't fucking  _count_."

 

 

 

 

Billy wakes up, and the TV is all staticky and white and weird, so he turns it off. 

He's alone in the living room, and it's cold, and he had a couple drinks with Harrington, but he's feeling pretty sober, now.

And Dad never waits up after they fight, so.

Billy should just go home.

 

 

 

 

**ix. one nocturnal son of a gun**

( _this is for those who would like a moment._ )

Billy goes upstairs, and Harrington's not asleep. 

He's sitting up against a bookshelf, smoking, and he doesn't say anything to Billy when Billy walks into the same room as him, so.

"Harrington?'

Harrington raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"What are you doing?" 

"Contemplating death." 

Billy blinks. "Okay."

" _Okay_?" 

"Yeah, I mean." Billy shrugs. "I don't really _care_ what you do, so..."

Harrington sighs, " _Yeah_ , Hargrove. You  _really_  seem like somebody who  _doesn't_  care." He finishes off his cigarette, rubs at his eyes, asks, "You want some drugs?"

Is that a real question?

 _Wow_.

Indiana's _so_ fucking wild.

"I mean,  _sure_. I want drugs, yes, _yeah_."

"Neat. So, my mom has some Qualuudes still, _somewhere_ , I think? But if we can't find 'em, it's still cool, 'cause I _do_ know where the Valium is, so we're set."  

 

 

 

 

Billy hasn't been this fucked up for a _long_ time, now. 

Nobody gets high in Hawkins, or if they _do_ , they don't invite Billy. 

So, maybe Harrington does this a lot, by himself, in his house, just pops pills and watches  _ThunderCats_  marathons and drinks endless cups of soda through straws made out of licorice, like he thinks that's  _not_  gross.

It's not the _worst_ existence.

Billy's not _jealous_ of it, or anything, but.

He can see how it's not the _worst_.  

 

 

 

 

Around three in the afternoon, Harrington stands up, looks even more dead than usual, says, "I'm gonna go to bed." 

Billy's had four naps since he got to Harrington's last night.

He's pretty sure Harrington hasn't slept at _all_ , yet. 

It's not, whatever,  _normal_  to sleep in the middle of the day, but. 

He shrugs.

"Okay. Want me to leave?" 

Harrington shrugs, too. "Do whatever you want. I  _honestly_  could give a fuck."  

 

 

 

 

Billy chills on the couch for a little bit. 

He should go home, but he doesn't _want_ to, and Harrington didn't _tell_ him to, so. 

He can go later. 

Tomorrow, maybe. 

But he doesn't have any clothes to wear, or anything, and the ones he's still got on are getting pretty gross. 

But he's in a house that's probably _full_ of clothes that nobody ever wears. 

He heads upstairs, slips into the master bedroom, starts running the shower. 

 

 

 

 

When Billy gets out of the shower, Harrington's sprawled out on his parents' bed, staring up at the ceiling.

He tips his head to the left to look at Billy when he hears the door open, slowly pushes up on his elbows, takes in Billy's borrowed clothes.

He yawns, "Is _this_ where you make a joke about how I should call you _Daddy_ , or something? If you're about to do that, I _need_ you to know that I'm _never_  calling you that, and that I'll _never_ forget that you said it, though, and I'll hate you a _lot_ more than right now, so..." 

"So, _you_ said it, _not_ me," Billy shrugs, forcing a leering grin onto his face. He's never been less attracted to _anybody_. Harrington still looks _dead_. Doesn't he _know_  that? If _Billy_ looked that bad, he feels like  _he_ would know. He leans against the foot of the bedframe, reaches down to put a hand down on Harrington's ankle. He's not wearing socks. He really _is_ going to get sick. "Are you feeling okay?"

" _Yep_ ," Harrington smiles, all bright white teeth, wet pink mouth. _Everything_ about him is annoyingly soft and sweet and easy. Billy looks rough in comparison, but that's not him being dramatic and Byronic and _stupid_ , or anything, he just  _really_  knows it, because the Harringtons have a fucking _huge_ and probably completely unnecessary mirror on the wall behind their bed. 

"Okay. So. Your old man's kinda kinky, or what?" 

"Narcissism is a  _mental problem_ ; it's not a  _kink_ ," Harrington informs Billy, tiredly. "And my _mom_  decorated this room." 

Billy raises his eyebrows, hums, licks his lips. " _Mrs Harrington_ , huh?"

"You're _so_ gross." 

Billy nods, because.

 _Yeah_.

He _knows_.

"I thought you were sleeping." 

"I _was_." 

Billy decides not to tell Harrington that he fucking _knows_ it hasn't even been an _hour_ yet, just repeats, " _Okay_. You want to order pizza?" 

And, shockingly, Harrington sits up straight, starts biting at his lip, looking like Billy just made his fucking _day_.

"My man, you are fucking  _perfect_. I could  _kiss_  you. Pizza. Okay. You like deep dish?"

Billy has no fucking idea, but he can't  _say_  so.

He can't own up to a _weakness_ in front of fucking  _Harrington_. 

But his head's still kind of messy from all the drugs, so. 

He says, "I have _no_ idea what that means. Is that a Midwest thing?"

Harrington grins, and.

Not for the first time, Billy notes that he feels a  _lot_  like he's looking at his own goddamn face.

"Guess what, King Billy? I am about to blow your fucking  _mind_." 

 

 

 

 

**x. in medias res**

( _came out to play, stay out my way._ ) 

"We can't _drive_ , Hargrove, we are on  _drugs_." 

"Didn't you _just_ talk my fucking ear off about how you're gonna _die_ if I don't get you some ice cream?"

" _Yeah_ , 'cause it's _true_ ," Steve says. "But we also can't  _drive_ anywhere to  _get_ it." 

Billy looks like he wants to hit him when he says, slowly, " _Well_ , Harrington, it seems to me as if we have a problem on our hands." 

And Steve  _agrees_ , but.

"I _told_ you so." 

 

 

 

 

" _Hi_ , Mrs Wheeler," Billy smiles. "You remember Steve, right?" 

Steve rolls his eyes, but offers her a small wave, keeps one hand clamped down on the back of Billy's jacket.

This has been the worst walk of his _life_.

If he lets go of Billy, he is going to fall over and  _die_.

Probably.

_Maybe_. 

"What can I do for you boys?" 

" _Well_ ," says Billy,  _really_ laying on the charm, now. "You're  _not_  going to believe this, Mrs Wheeler, but I was telling Steve, here, about those  _delicious_  cookies you gave me that first time I was here, and _—_ "

 

 

 

 

"This is  _gross_ ," says Nancy, scowling, when Mrs Wheeler wanders off to bring some sandwiches to the kids playing D&D. "My mom is  _married_." 

"I don't know  _how_. She makes terrible cookies. And what kinda house where _kids_ live doesn't have _ice cream_ in it?" 

"Shut  _up_. Are you _kidding_ me? Didn't you just come from  _your_  house, where _you_ live?" 

"Yeah, where  _I_ live,  _basically_  alone, 'cause my parents  _hate_ me," Steve reminds her. "They're not gonna buy me  _ice cream_ ; shit, are  _you_  kidding  _me_?"  

Billy finally interrupts, sounding a _lot_ like he's trying to keep the peace, which is  _amazing_ , because he's _Billy_ , and is therefore the _last_ possible person to ever  _not_ want to see a fight, "No one's disparaging your mommy's honor, Wheeler, so _unclench_ , okay? Since we've already got you here, though, do you mind doing us a _big_ favor?" 

"I  _do_ mind, so I'm  _not_  doing you a favor. _No_." 

"What if it was just a _small_ favor?" Steve asks hopefully. He's not sure where Billy's going with all this, really, but. If his ice cream is dependent on _somebody_ convincing Nancy Wheeler to do them a favor, Steve's  _probably_  got to put in some more effort. "Like, a tiny, itsy-bitsy sized favor?" 

Billy rolls his eyes. 

Nancy looks like Steve's never said a single more endearing thing, though, so. 

_Bingo_. 

 

 

 

 

Still, it is with  _extreme_  fucking prejudice that Nancy drives them into town. 

She says, "I'm _not_ waiting around to drive you home." 

"What the  _fuck_?!" Steve turns to grin at Billy, who's sulking in the backseat, but gives Steve a stoned annoyed helpless smile back when he mumbles, "This is _bullshit_." 

Steve cackles at that, shocks the _shit_ out of both Nancy and Billy, he's pretty sure, but he doesn't care.

He is fucking _tired_.

He shouldn't _have_ to pretend to be nice _all the fucking time_ , and _definitely_ not when he's all tired, like this.

That's not _fair_. 

He _can't_ keep doing it. 

"Bullshit," he hums, knocking his head against the cool glass of the window of Nancy's mom's car. "Bullshit, bullshit, _bullshit_. That's my fucking _sweet spot_ in life, Hargrove, that is _all_ I'm good at. Hey, _Nancy_ could tell you, if you wanna know, if you don't _believe—_ " 

" _Steve_. That's not fucking fair, and you  _know_  it." 

"He's  _high_ ," Billy cuts in, again. There's less charm in his voice, now, though. Like he can tell Steve suddenly doesn't want ice cream, at _all_ , just wants to go home and scream and then fucking _die_ , maybe. "He doesn't know _anything_. Back  _off_." 

 

 

 

 

When they're waiting to check out of the store, Steve's rifling through his pockets looking for his wallet, which he maybe just doesn't _have_ , or something, because it shouldn't be _this_ hard to find, but  _also_ , Steve's all messy falling down crossfaded, so.

It's anyone's guess.

But it means that he's caught _way_ off guard when Billy suggests that they hitchhike back home from the store, especially because Steve _would_  happily do that if it was just him, but he's almost one hundred percent sure that Billy's still scared of hitchhiking.

There's really nothing to be scared _of_ , that's _gotta_ just be some kind of leftover weird city kid paranoia, but _Steve's_ still from a small town where he knows everybody, so. 

_He's_ not scared, but.

They can figure something else out. 

Steve doesn't _need_ Billy trying to do dumb shit to impress him, or whatever.

He's  _wasted_. 

He just needs to go  _home_.

Steve sighs, "You ever do it before?" 

"Yeah, _tons_ of times." 

Steve rolls his eyes. 

He's seen Billy in a car that wasn't his own a grand total of  _one_ time, and that was  _just now_ , in the Wheeler's car, so he doesn't believe this for a fucking  _second_ , but it doesn't matter, because Hopper cruises up behind them in line, holding nothing but five boxes of frozen waffles, like he's not even _pretending_ to be normal, anymore, or something.

"Yum," says Billy, flatly. 

"Don't judge me, kid," Hopper sighs, in that constantly drained bored  _I'm too fucking tired for this shit_  voice of his. "I'm not the one buying lube and ice cream at seven o'clock, so _—_ "

"They're  _separate_ purchases." Steve turns to the cashier, even though this probably isn't half as important as it feels. "Those aren't. I.  _I'm_  just getting ice cream." 

"And this," says Billy, tossing a Twix down next to the ice cream. 

"Yeah," Steve allows, because. Jesus,  _fine_ , whatever. " _And_ the Twix, but the other thing's just his." 

" _Just_  for me," Billy agrees. "Me, myself, and a bottle of KY. Gonna be a  _wild_  night." 

Steve refuses to look Hopper in the eye, but he's pretty sure he's still making some kind of  _I don't care about any of this_  face, so. 

It's  _probably_  gonna be fine.

 

 

 

 

" _Why_ are you friends with that cop, again?" Billy wants to know, when they're walking back up the drive into Steve's house. Steve's pretty sure he doesn't have his keys, but he's also pretty sure he left the door unlocked. If not, they can hop the back fence. Or, _Billy_ can hop the fence, and then go around and open the door, because Steve _doesn't_ see why _he_ should have to jump a fence unless it's _totally_ necessary. "I mean, I _get_ that he's whatshername's dad, or something, but, I mean, that's _really_ no excuse. You _know_ it's strange, being friends with cops and little kids and nobody your age, right?" 

" _You're_  my friend," Steve points out. "You're in my house  _right now_." 

" _Yeah_ ," and Billy really draws out the word, leans back against Steve's front door, crosses his arms. "But I'm not really up in here 'cause I'm your  _friend_." 

"You're not?" 

Billy smiles. 

It's not the casual easy stoned as hell smile he's been giving Steve all night. 

It's not the harmless  _I'm definitely not on drugs please don't arrest me_  smile he gave to Hopper the whole time they were catching a ride in his car.

It's a little bit like the  _hi, Mrs Wheeler, can I get some cookies and maybe get into your panties, too, just while I'm already here_ smile from earlier, though, and.

And  _that_  smile is actually a  _lot_ like Billy's open-mouthed expression of calculated fake emotion crossing into shocked disbelief, tongue ghosting across his lips, staring at Steve in the dark outside the Byers' house, and.

And that smile was fucking  _terrifying_ , that time, but.

It's not actually that bad, now. 

"Look, if I'm _reading_ you wrong _—_ "

"You're gonna let my ice cream melt, Hargrove. And you gotta know, man, if that melts, I _will_ scream."

Billy raises his eyebrows. "Oh, you'll _scream_?"

Steve nods.

He hasn't _actually_ screamed over not getting something he wants in about nine or ten years, probably, because that was when it stopped working as a reliable tactic that would get Dad to pay attention to him, but.

He could probably still swing it.

"Kitchen's this way." 

Billy looks _offended_  when he spits, "Yeah, _fuck_ you, I know where the fucking _kitchen_ is. _Jesus_."

 

 

 

 

**xi. the boy who would be king**

( _that wolf messed with your vision, he is sitting in your kitchen while you—_ )

Steve is  _not_ losing his virginity in his kitchen.

Mainly because he's a boy,  _too_ , and if  _he_  fucked some girl for the first time in her parents' kitchen, he would brag about it for the next five years,  _minimum_ , and Billy Hargrove is  _already_ the kind of guy who exaggerates, who makes things into a huge deal when he doesn't have to, and is already definitely  _never_ going to let it go that he's the first guy to fuck  _King Steve_ , so.

Steve puts the ice cream away, and then he tries to take Billy upstairs, but Billy catches him in the doorway, scowling, asking, "Are you for  _real_ , with this?"

Steve blinks. "Are  _you_?"

" _Nobody's_  here," Billy reminds him, raising his eyebrows, working his face into a kind of silent question of  _are you fucking dumb?_ "We can do it down here."

"Yeah, I guess we  _could_ , but we're  _not_." 

Billy mocks, "Oh, we're  _not_?" 

"If you  _really_ want it, yeah,  _no_ , it's  _not_  happening in my fucking  _kitchen_." 

"I bet I could persuade you."

Steve's been drunk and high for what feels like _days_ , and he definitely hasn't slept in _way_ too long, but he  _knows_  when something feels weird. 

This feels kind of weird. 

He asks, "Are you the kinda guy who thinks  _persuade_ and _force_ mean the same thing?" 

Billy's smile stops being charming, easy, harmless, again, but _worse_ , now.

Now, it grows into something that's suddenly got a _lot_ more teeth.

"Do you  _really_ want to find out?" 

 

 

 

 

Despite Billy's obvious best efforts, Steve stops feeling like he's being forced or manipulated or even just sort of playfully bullied into messing around with Billy after the first four and a half minutes, which is kind of _embarrassingly_ quick, so Steve's just _never_ going to tell anybody about it, because they'll probably call him a slut, and then he'll want to die even more than he _usually_ does, which seems _pretty_ dangerous, because he already usually wants that _really bad_. 

But he wants _this_ , too.

He _wants_ Billy tugging at his hair every two seconds, because it turns out that Steve was right about Billy being that kind of guy, and he _wants_ Billy groaning, "Jesus, _baby_ , yeah, that's _so_ good, fuck, _goddamn_ ," which Steve hadn't really thought he would do, he kind of thought Billy would be quiet, but he doesn't know, now, why the _hell_ he thought that, because it was _obviously_ a dumb idea, because Billy _never_ shuts the fuck up, and he fucking _wants_ Billy lifting him up and pushing him around and holding him down, because he's been thinking for _months_ that Billy Hargrove works out _way_ too much for _no_ fucking reason, but this is _it_ , right here, this _is_ the fucking reason, and it's. 

So fucking _nice_. 

It's not magic.

He's not dumb enough to think it is.

He's not suddenly fucking _better_ , or _happier_ , or _healthier_ , but he feels _good_ , and he hasn't felt this good in _such_ a long time.

Not even when he was with Nancy, it must've been before that, probably, but.

He doesn't _know_ , it doesn't _matter_ , all that _matters_ is that everything doesn't fucking _hurt_ , the lights don't seem too bright, Billy doesn't seem too loud, everything feels _fine_ , like it used to, before he got with Nancy, before he knew about demogorgons, before he knew about the Upside Down. 

He feels _normal_. 

There's a tap against his face, that makes him whimper and blink and gasp, "What the _fuck_?"

Billy just grins at him, shrugs, says, "Pay _attention_ to me. I'm _doing_ something, here." 

Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I can fucking _feel_ you doing something, Jesus _Christ_ , you can't just hit me in the fucking face and expect me to _wanna_ keep fucking you." 

Billy pulls out, then, sits back, smiles. "Okay. What's up, then?" 

" _What's up_? I. Just."

" _Just_?" Billy mocks, raises his eyebrows, smiles even wider. Steve wants to punch every single one of his fucking teeth out. "Just what? Just... _get back to dicking me down, already, Billy?_ " 

"I  _don't_  talk like that." 

"You know, if you _really_ don't want me here, I can just _leave_." 

"Oh, yeah? And fuck who, _instead_?" 

Billy reaches over to where he left his jeans, lights a cigarette, shrugs again. "Karen Wheeler, probably." 

" _Nancy's mom_ isn't gonna _fuck_ you, Hargrove."

"I don't know about that."

Steve feels weird, now.

Not weird like earlier, but.

Weird, like.

_Desperate_ , maybe.

Scared, or something, maybe.

Uncomfortable.

But that doesn't make _sense_.

He felt _so_ good a _minute_ ago.

He doesn't know what the _fuck_ is happening to him.

He tries to keep his voice level, like he's not suddenly feeling weak and upset and suicidal, when he lies, "She's not as fine as me." 

And Billy repeats, "I don't know about _that_." 

Steve could say, _I don't wanna be alone_ , or,  _I don't want you to sleep with anybody that's not me_ , or,  _I thought you liked me. You don't like me, anymore? What did I do? I'll fix it._

But that would just make it worse, right?

All of that is the kind of shit that Steve would _hate_ to hear from a girl. 

Or a boy.

Whatever. 

He keeps his mouth shut, watches Billy get up and walk around his kitchen, putting on his clothes and his boots and his jacket. 

Billy leans down to hand off his cigarette before he starts pulling on his dumb necklace, and Steve inhales, exhales, feels dumb and tired and alone, already. 

He hears Billy ask, "You okay, King Steve?" 

Steve shrugs. "Why wouldn't I be okay?" 

Billy's looking at him funny, a little like he's annoyed, a _lot_ like maybe he's thinking _well, I just don't need you deciding to call the cops and say that I forced you to do anything, because we were just joking about that, but that's not what happened._

But he doesn't have to worry about that, because even if that _was_ what happened, Steve _wouldn't_ ever tell anybody. 

Steve never tells anybody _anything_ , which is _saying_ something, because he talks a _lot_. 

Nancy didn't give him enough credit. 

It takes real _skill_ to do what Steve does, and she just wrote him off like he didn't matter, just like his teachers do, just like his _parents_ do.

Just like _Billy's_ doing. 

Steve hadn't been thinking about still being on the floor, his fucking _kitchen floor_ , where he _didn't_ want to have sex, because that was dumb and embarrassing and Billy talked him into it, anyway, _Jesus_ , but it doesn't matter, he _wasn't_ thinking about it, but then Billy's kneeling down in front of him, saying, " _Look_ , I'm not fucking around. Are you _okay_?" 

Steve laughs, and it comes out sounding too light and breathless and _fake_. 

He can _tell_ it sounds fake, so Billy probably can, too. 

He doesn't care. 

He's tired. 

" _Goodnight_ , King Billy." And since it's half-true, Steve tells him, "This was real fun. We should do it again."

Billy laughs, looking confused, before he taps at Steve's face, one more time, rests his hand against Steve's cheek, asks, "You're _really_ okay in there?" 

Steve leans into it, just for a second, just because it feels good, Billy's hands feel _so good_ , which is weird, but maybe not.

They're big and heavy and _grounding_. 

Steve would've _hated_ that before tonight, and he'll get some sleep, hopefully, and then wake up hating it, _again_ , but.  

Right now, it's good. 

Right now, it's the best thing Steve's got, and he _doesn't_ want it to stop. 

God, this started out as a _game_ , right? 

Billy probably wasn't _really_ going to leave, was he?

But then Steve didn't play along like he wanted, so he's leaving.

Steve can't remember what Billy wanted him to say, anymore, though. 

This doesn't _happen_.

Steve's a _really_ good actor. 

He _never_ forgets his lines. 

Billy says, "Harrington, for _real—_ "

"I'm just tired," Steve says, and it's not a lie. It's not bullshit. It's _not_. "I'm okay. Bye." 

Billy takes back his cigarette, puts it out against the kitchen table, stands up straight.

And gently, Jesus, _gently_ , because the fucking psycho _monster_ that is _Billy fucking Hargrove_ thinks Steve is _so_ fucked up that he needs to be treated _gently_ , apparently, Billy tells him, just before he leaves, "You need to go to sleep."

 

 

 

  

Steve doesn't sleep.

 

 

 

 

Billy's back, in the morning.

Steve wasn't expecting that, but.

It's happening.

The door was locked, but Billy took Steve's keys, maybe, or, no, he _must_ have, because the door unlocks, slowly, and then footsteps are walking around his house, and it's Billy, so he's _loud_. 

He calls, "Harrington?" 

He sing-songs, "Hey, _King Steve_! Gonna come out and play with me, or what?" 

He asks, "Hey, what the fuck are you still  _doing_ down there?"

He sounds _scared_ , almost. 

Steve doesn't know what he's talking about, just like he never knows what _anybody's_ talking about, because he's  _that_ fucking dumb. 

And Dad thinks that Steve's not smart enough for a real job, and Mom thinks Steve should try to marry somebody who is really rich, and Nancy said his college admissions essay was bad, and it fucking _was_ bad, and he fucking _should_ marry rich, and he fucking _isn't_ smart, but nobody has to _say_ shit like that, _do_ they?

People talk shit to Steve _all the time_ , and he doesn't talk shit _back_ , not _anymore_ , anyway, because he doesn't _have_ to do it. It's a _conscious decision_ , to treat other people like shit, and people _keep_ doing that to him, because they _don't_ care about him, and he can't _force_ anybody to care, and he wouldn't even really fucking _want_ to if he _could_ , but he's tired, and he's alone, and he's so fucking _sad_. 

There's a sharp smack to the side of his face, harder than yesterday but not as hard as in the fall at the Byers' place, and Billy's closer, down on his knees in front of Steve, yet again, where Steve is backed into the spot between his fridge and the wall by the oven, because he's still in the kitchen, but that's _crazy_ , because the sun's up and he hasn't slept so he _shouldn't_ still be in here, and, yeah, _sometimes_ he'll lose track of time, a little bit, but not all _night_ , not _ever_ , and Billy's saying, "Hey, you're going to be _just_ fine, baby. Focus for me."

Steve _can't_ focus.

Steve can't _think_.

He says, "I'm _not_ fine."

Billy says, slowly, "Okay. That's okay." 

"No, it's _not_!"

"I. Okay? Shit, _Harrington_ , I _—_ "

"I'm _tired_."

"I know."

"And it _hurts_."

"I _know_." Billy's up and walking across the room, and Steve thinks, hopes, _God_ , he fucking _hopes_ Billy's leaving, but he just gets a hand on the receiver of the phone, then stops, turns, wants to know, "Do you want to go to the hospital? I'll drive you there, if you do." 

Steve says, because _he_ thought it was kind of obvious, but he _knows_ he can act, he can pretend, he's _so_ good at that, so he says, in case Billy doesn't know, "I want to _sleep_." 

And Billy's face, voice,  _everything_ loses its gentleness, when he snarls, "If  _I_  have to be here, and be  _fucking_  miserable, so the fuck do  _you_." 

 

 

 

 

It's hours before Steve feels capable of asking, "Did you  _hit_ me?"

"You were scared."

"So you wanted to scare me some  _more_?"

"Your body can only be scared of one thing at a time." That's _probably_ not true, but Billy clearly thinks it _is_ , so. Steve's not gonna be the asshole who tells him that he's _wrong_. "Learned it in anger management, in juvie."

"You've been to _juvie_?"

Billy rolls his eyes. "Listen, don't _judge_ me, okay? _God_ gets to judge me, and, whatever. _Nuns_ , and my _dad_. Not you.  _You_ almost just stuck your head in a fucking _oven_."

Yeah, that's.

Not at _all_ the same, though, so.

" _Okay_ , but I didn't hurt anybody but _me_."

"Yeah, so what?"

"So, I feel like _you_ probably hurt somebody."

"So,  _what_?" Billy pours out some more vodka, pushes it over to Steve, saying, "Drink that. It's gonna fix that right up, make you feel a _lot_ better."

"You said that the last _three_ times," Steve points out, before he takes the shot, because. Shit, he's not gonna _turn down_ vodka. He _likes_ vodka. "I don't _believe_ you, anymore."

 

 

 

 

The next time Steve wakes up, he doesn't actually remember deciding to go to sleep, but he must have, because he's upstairs, and his bedroom door is open.

And, across the hall, the guest room is open, too, and Billy's curled up in bed, and when Steve climbs in with him, he slurs, " _Harrington_?" 

"Hi."

" _Hi_ ," Billy groans. "You scared, or something?"

"Yeah."

"Of me?"

"...no."

Billy nods against his pillow, slides an arm over to pull Steve up against him, and then he just goes right back to sleep, like it's _easy_.

It's _not_ easy.

And Steve _knows_ , because _he's_ still tired, but not enough to _sleep_.

He can fake it, probably. Just close his eyes and wait. Eventually, Billy's gotta get back up, right?

Steve can just wait him out. 

 

 

 

 

**xii. the (baffled) king**

( _maybe i could be that nice clean dream for you._ ) 

Billy falls asleep by himself, but he wakes up with Harrington, and Harrington's drunk, _finally_ , because that motherfucker's got one _hell_ of a tolerance that Billy wasn't really expecting, but.

Harrington's chilling at the bottom of a bottle of vodka that was just about full when Billy went to bed, and when he sees that Billy's awake, he slurs, "I want my  _mom_." 

Billy tenses.

He's too tired for this.

_Shit_ , is this how Harrington feels _all_ the fucking _time_?

If it is, that sucks for him, because.

It's too much.

Billy can't handle it, but.

He doesn't really  _have_ to handle it.

He can _leave_.

He says, "I know." 

"Or my  _dad_." 

He knows what's coming. 

Even if Harrington doesn't, yet, Billy's _been_ here.

He _knows_ what's coming. 

He says, again, "I _know_ , baby." 

"But, they. But they  _hate_  me." 

The only _good_ thing here is that Billy knows what _he_ wanted to hear, when it was _him_ , so.

So, Billy tries, "Hey, nobody  _hates_  you." 

"Are you _joking_?! Billy, _I_ fucking hate _you_! You _know_ that, right?"

"Yeah, okay."

Harrington looks lost until he _doesn't_  anymore, and he _laughs_ , wild and disbelieving and fucking  _outraged_ , probably, because Billy's telling him what he thinks are  _obvious_ fucking _lies_ , and  _right_ to his fucking _face_ , even though he doesn't _have_ to, because, _hey_ , maybe Harrington's parents _do_ fucking hate him, what the fuck does Billy know, he doesn't fucking _know_ them.

But what the fuck else is Billy  _supposed_  to fucking _say_?

Billy doesn't _know_ Harrington, not really.

He doesn't even know King Steve or Babysitter Steve or Monster Hunter Steve. 

He doesn't know him enough to be able to figure out what Harrington fucking  _wants_. 

He tries again, "Look, I know I'm not _great_ , or anything, but  _I'm_  right here, okay? Come on, just. Come here for a minute." 

Harrington fights it for about twenty-five seconds, but he's _tired_ , Billy hasn't _seen_ anybody who's _this_ fucking tired, before, he doesn't think, so.

Harrington goes down quick, settles into Billy's arms and against Billy's chest. 

But he would've, no matter _what_ , probably. 

Billy would've, too, if it was him. 

Sometimes, before Susan and Max, after Mom, though, Dad would come into his room, sometimes, if Billy couldn't stop crying, would hug him, or whatever. 

Billy fucking  _hated_  it, because he wouldn't have  _needed_  any fucking comforting if  _Dad_  hadn't been pushing him around, right?

But he was the only person  _there_ , so Billy let him hug him and promised,  _I'll do better, Dad, I promise_ , like  _he_  fucking needed to apologize, like  _he'd_  ever really done anything fucking  _wrong_ , and. 

And, right on cue, Harrington's saying, "I'm sorry, I'm  _sorry_ , I don't hate you." 

"Okay." 

"I  _really_  don't, Billy, I  _don't_." 

Well, _that's_ fucking dumb, _isn't_ it?

_Jesus_.

Billy's never been _so_ aware of how he might accidentally fucking _kill_ somebody, though, so. 

He doesn't say so. 

He says, "It's okay if you do."

"But I  _don't_."

" _Okay_ ," Billy says. "That's okay, too."

**Author's Note:**

> title from _starboy_ by the weeknd.
> 
> [im on tumblr right here if you ever want to talk about this fic or anything else.](http://rvstyryan.tumblr.com/)
> 
> theres now some amazing art for this fic [here](https://neonlaynes.tumblr.com/post/172090994117/one-of-my-fave-scenes-from-rvstyryan-s-amazing) and [also here](http://puffinparty.tumblr.com/post/172000288070/doodles-based-on-the-really-good-fic-i-like)!!!  
> 
> 
>  **notes for music nerds**  
>  _section titles in bold are from:_ 3 sex (the 1975) / 9 cupids chokehold (gym class heroes) / 12 hallelujah (leonard cohen)  
>  _titles in italics are from:_ 1 bill gates (lil wayne) / 2 backseat freestyle (kendrick lamar) / 3 jesus walks (kanye west) / 4 somebody told me (the killers) / 5 starboy (the weeknd) / 6 867-5309 (tommy tutone) / 7 dessert (dawin) / 8 if you want love (nf) / 9 skip to the good bit (rizzle kicks) / 10 x gon give it to ya (dmx) / 11 fork and knife (brand new) /12 all of you (riz mc) 


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